Today I woke up, naked, and locked inside a port-a-potty. That was strange; I could remember going to sleep in a room that smelled like rotten eggs; I could remember lying down on a lumpy and uncomfortable bed and getting grease on my fingers when I switched out the light. I banged on the door for a while, but nothing happened, so I went to sit down, and as I did, I felt something crunch on my butt. I pulled a sticky note off it, which read “HA HA SUCKER”

Feeling dejected, I decided to wrap my whole body up in toilet paper and sing “Kumbaya” at the top of my lungs. After about a minute, someone peeked through the slits in the port-a-potty.

Some Girl (SG): Hey, what’s going on in here?

Walt (W): I’m locked in here, wrapped up in toilet paper freezing to death, singing to keep warm.

SG: Is it just me, or do the nativity scenes get weirder and weirder each year?

W: This isn’t a nativity scene.

SG: War protest?

W: Nope.

SG: Failed fashion attempt?

W: Nope, imprisonment.

SG: Oh, I guess I should get you out then.

As I exited, I realized the girl I had been speaking to was just a normal girl!

W: Hey, you’re just a normal girl! You’re not a celebrity!

SG: Am I supposed to be?

W: Everyone who rescues me is supposed to be a celebrity, or at least insane in some other way. My agent will hear about this.

SG: Well, there is this thing I can do when I concentrate real hard…

W: What?

SG: If you shut up, I could concentrate, and then I could show you.

W: OK…

I waited for what felt like an hour, but according to my watch, was 32 seconds. At the end of that wait, the port-a-potty suddenly exploded, spraying fluids and small chunks everywhere.

SG: See?

W: You can make everything smell like crap?

SG: Yes! Isn’t it awesome?

I suspected she was not being entirely truthful about something, and as I detected sarcasm in her voice, I wondered if there was something she wanted me to know that she couldn’t tell me. So, in a very low voice, almost a whisper, I leaned over and spoke.

W: Hey, I’m just gonna ask you a couple of questions, and I know you might be able to say the answers, so if the answer is yes, you just blink your eyes a couple times, OK?

She looked slightly weirded out, which made perfect sense in the current context.

W: Is your brother a Martian?

The eyes were unblinking.

W: Do you collect bat snot and sell it on E-bay?

No blinks.

W: Do you have an extra toe shaped like a shark that turns bright blue on cold days?

Her eyes were starting to water from staying open.

W: Can I borrow your car?

She didn’t blink right away, but her eyes were getting tired, so I just waited for her to blink, but her eyes remained unmoving. So I screamed “The aliens are taking over me!” and roughly head butted her, getting the blink I wanted, and ran off to her car, and drove away.

I returned to my house, dressed, and went back out side to decide what to do with the car. As I went outside, I noticed a brick lying in the driveway. This was common occurrence, as the neighborhood wannabe gangsters/thugs are constantly throwing miscellaneous junk, mainly bricks at the house, so I simply picked it up and threw it away.

I never had a knack for throwing things. I should know better, by now, then to try and throw a brick over an expensive car that I left the keys in, because I might, for example, throw too hard and send it sailing into my elderly neighbor’s yard, hitting her on the head and killing her. Then, her husband might throw the brick at me, and I might duck, which could result in the brick sailing through the window, landing on the gas pedal, and sending the car zooming into the street, where it could collide with another car, causing a fiery explosion. Which is exactly what happened, quickly resolving the problem of what to do with the car.

I wandered back inside, and barricaded my room shut. You see, every Christmas, my cousin Randall comes, and we sit around in our underwear eating candy. Of course, Christmas also brings relatives, particularly Grandmothers and Aunts. I was especially concerned about my Aunt Mabel, an ugly, wrinkled, woman who smelled like rotten fruit and always had green drool dribbling out of the corner of her mouth. If that doesn’t give you a good image, try this: ever picture Keith Richards, as a girl, crawling out of a slime pit? Yeah, it’s sorta like that.

So I guess now is the part where I introduce my cousin Randall. He is the only person in the world who actually likes me, but unfortunately, he visits only once a year. You see, when he was three, he fell and split his skull. The doctor, while patching it up, accidentally spilled pineapple juice into his brain. Because of this, he is never thinking too clearly, and has to take medication twice per. The medication means he ABSOLUTELY, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, CANNOT, I REPEAT CANNOT have ANY sugar under ANY circumstances. Which is why, every Christmas, we barricade my room, and sit around in our boxers and eat as much sugar as possible, to see how messed up he gets. The consequences afterward are disastrous, but it’s been worth it every year, except when he was eight and the only thing that happened was he started sweating pineapple juice and passed out. Not exactly fair compensation for the punishment, getting chained to wall for six weeks.

So at three P.M., I barricaded my room. I heard pounding on the door, then chopping, then screams of pain, and then an ambulance. But I waited patiently, and at 5 O’clock I saw blood dribbling through the vent from the heating ducts. I prepared myself for another attack by a seven-foot heating duct rat, but when Randall came crashing through the duct, no strange creatures followed.

Walt(W): Randall, why are you bleeding through your armpits?

Randall(R): I was in a bar fight commercial, and it sort of got out of hand…

W: They have bar fight commercials?

R: They do now. You got the brownies?

For the first few years, Randall and I tried different methods of getting lots of sugar into ourselves- eating it plain, buying candy from the store- but then, we finally stumbled upon a great recipe. I will now share it.

6 Eggs

50 cups sugar

20 cups melted chocolate

Mix together. Cooking optional. Add frosting (2 cups milk, 2 cups sugar, 2 cups melted butter), and sprinkle sugar on the top. It is called “pukish sugary mixture”

R: Hey, remember the year I thought you turned into a giant chicken, and then had a conversation between an old man and a Hispanic waitress?

W: Yeah! And remember the time-

Our reminiscing was cut short, however, when a small dinosaur who had been in a compost heap for fifty years came crashing through the ceiling. This monster was actually Aunt Mabel.

R: Ai! Ai! An Aunt! An Aunt has come!

W: Fly!

We started running away, but my room is only, like, 15X8, so we didn’t get far.

Aunt Mabel(AM): WHAT’S THIS? WALT? I-SMELL-SUGAR! HAVE YOU BEEN FEEDING YOUR COUSIN SUGAR? YOU WILL PAY, YOUNG MAN-

Aunt Mabel speech was cut off as bird crap splattered on her glasses. 333 sailed triumphantly overhead.

AM: NOOOOOO! I’M MELTIIIIIIIIIIIIIING! AAHHHHHhhhhhh….

And away she melted. Randall and I exchanged high fives.

R: Dude, let’s hit the hard stuff.

Several hours later, I lay on the floor. I was completely exhausted. My room lay in ruins. Randall was kneeling before my computer, asking it to validate his parking ticket, which appeared to be a bloodstained condom (I have no idea how or where he got it, honest). I could feel my arteries had clogged up. As I dragged myself over to Randall, I noticed the date on the computer- December 30^th, 2002! I had been passed out for 5 days. Cool…

As I became more aware of my surroundings, I noticed several cop cars outside the house. I pulled on some pants, pulled off a few shoelaces that had been tied around my neck, and went outside to greet them.

Officer(O): (Speaking into his walkie-talkie): He’s coming out! (to me): Are you ready to negotiate the hostage situation?

Walt(W): Hostage situation?

Bystander(B): Oh boy, a hostage situation!

O: This woman- (looks at Aunt Mabel)- er, thing, told us there was a hostage situation. We tried to communicate with you, but received no response.

W: I’m sorry…this is my insane Aunt. I got her medication right here, hang on…

And before anyone could stop me, I picked up a large, five day old glob of ‘pukish

sugary mixture’, stuffed it into Aunt Mabel’s mouth, and held her mouth closed until she swallowed it. She twitched, convulsed, made a noise like Ross Perot, and fainted.

W: Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, everyone!

The making of “pukish sugary mixture’ is not advised by Walt, inc. Any making and/or consumption of ‘pukish sugary mixture’ or any variant is entirely the choice of the reader, and Walt, inc. claims no responsibility for any other dumb ideas you might get from this either, like trying to train you bird to crap on your Aunt. So I hope you had a Christmas, and have a Happy New Year, don’t think about your credit card, and yes, the punch is spiked.

Walt.