Last week, at some point, I woke up with a beach ball in my mouth.

First, beach balls taste terrible. Like a Fruit Roll-Up without the fruit or the sugar.

Second, like I do to anything that is put in my mouth that doesn’t contain blood or entrails, I destroyed the thing, managed to get it snagged on my ferocious tooth, and then couldn’t get it out no matter how hard I tried.  I don’t often say this, but, STUPID ARMS!

My frustration at this may have caused me to lose my temper. A smidgen.

Because the last thing I saw as I stomped potholes into the Boulevard was Norm coming at me while adjusting the dial on his tranq gun.

I woke up yesterday with the beach ball gone and four days of my life missing.

Hey, Norm? YOU WANT TO TURN THE JUICE DOWN A LITTLE?!

God.

Rawr.