I never squeal.
I may yell or grunt or grimace, but I never squeal.
Until this morning. It was close, very close, but nothing squealish escaped my lips. Barely.
It all started when I finished breakfast and was rinsing out my cereal bowl and juice glass. I was then going to make myself a fresh cup of coffee in my Keurig machine. Nothing unseemly came to my attention in the short distance between the sink and the Keurig sitting next to the stove. It's strategic location near the refrigerator bespoke of the pleasures of Half and Half that would soon grace the sleek interior of my stainless steel Keurig travel mug.
Yes, an authentic, genuine Keurig coffee travel mug; desired by many but acquired by few. Perhaps God, in His Infinite Wisdom, decided that my overweening, hypercaffeinated pride needed to be addressed. If so, the events unfolding would challenge my faith and courage as never before.
Perhaps it was this appearance of domestic tranquility and the anticipatory weight of the empty coffee mug in my hand that beguiled me into believing that all was well, that all was as it should be. That horror would dare steal into this peaceful scene, my domicile, my domain.
I approached the Keurig not realizing that my heart meds would shortly undergo a trial that would indeed test their mettle to the utmost. I stood in front of the machine and moved the mug closer to place it under the spout to await Heaven's Brown Nectar. I reached towards the storage drawer to withdraw a K-cup. That's when the multi-legged fiend struck.
The Centipede From Hell scurried out from under the coffee stand and lunged at me. I think he had a knife. I heard his thin, rasping breath as he scampered around the sugar bowl and the muted "schwep schwep schwep" of his hooves gaining traction on the slippery resin countertop. Venomous drool flew off his poisoned fangs as he whipped his head around seeking a fatal opening through which to strike at me.
My law enforcement training saved me. As this was definitely a close quarters combat situation I had to keep my head. Dropping into a modified Weaver Stance, I unholstered my JC Penny Mod. 30 dish towel (300 thread count, double stitched edging, 100% non-waxed cotton, tumble dry) and aimed a devastating blow at the suspect. Merciful Heavens! He was so fast! Luckily my Mod. 30 incorporates the latest hypervelocity technology (I only carry the best) and the resulting shock wave blew the suspect to the kitchen floor.
Recovering from the recoil, I quickly delivered a series of strikes at the suspect. He desperately attempted to evade a veritable blizzard of high-speed cotton. Over and over again he scrambled for cover ... but this wasn't my first rodeo. It had been quite a few years since I last bested the same sort of creature in a contest of wits and strength in an epic battle fought in the kitchen sink. Since then my time on the range and an upgrade in weaponry had transformed me into an even more fearsome opponent. My skills were simply too advanced for him. A crippling blow knocked off six or seven of his legs (arms?) and he was mine.
I paused for a second to admire his fortitude and spirit. He was a worthy adversary. In his final moments he gazed up at me, his gaze steady and unyielding but yet, acknowledging my mastery over him. Or maybe it was his ass I was looking at. I simply can't tell one end from the other on these things. Another quick blow and it was over. Done.
It was a bittersweet victory. My relaxing, happy times with the Keurig will never be the same. From now on my survival instincts will always be on alert while contemplating that stretch of countertop.
For who knows what evil lurks in the shadowy confines of the K-cup drawer?
I may yell or grunt or grimace, but I never squeal.
Until this morning. It was close, very close, but nothing squealish escaped my lips. Barely.
It all started when I finished breakfast and was rinsing out my cereal bowl and juice glass. I was then going to make myself a fresh cup of coffee in my Keurig machine. Nothing unseemly came to my attention in the short distance between the sink and the Keurig sitting next to the stove. It's strategic location near the refrigerator bespoke of the pleasures of Half and Half that would soon grace the sleek interior of my stainless steel Keurig travel mug.
Yes, an authentic, genuine Keurig coffee travel mug; desired by many but acquired by few. Perhaps God, in His Infinite Wisdom, decided that my overweening, hypercaffeinated pride needed to be addressed. If so, the events unfolding would challenge my faith and courage as never before.
Perhaps it was this appearance of domestic tranquility and the anticipatory weight of the empty coffee mug in my hand that beguiled me into believing that all was well, that all was as it should be. That horror would dare steal into this peaceful scene, my domicile, my domain.
I approached the Keurig not realizing that my heart meds would shortly undergo a trial that would indeed test their mettle to the utmost. I stood in front of the machine and moved the mug closer to place it under the spout to await Heaven's Brown Nectar. I reached towards the storage drawer to withdraw a K-cup. That's when the multi-legged fiend struck.
The Centipede From Hell scurried out from under the coffee stand and lunged at me. I think he had a knife. I heard his thin, rasping breath as he scampered around the sugar bowl and the muted "schwep schwep schwep" of his hooves gaining traction on the slippery resin countertop. Venomous drool flew off his poisoned fangs as he whipped his head around seeking a fatal opening through which to strike at me.
My law enforcement training saved me. As this was definitely a close quarters combat situation I had to keep my head. Dropping into a modified Weaver Stance, I unholstered my JC Penny Mod. 30 dish towel (300 thread count, double stitched edging, 100% non-waxed cotton, tumble dry) and aimed a devastating blow at the suspect. Merciful Heavens! He was so fast! Luckily my Mod. 30 incorporates the latest hypervelocity technology (I only carry the best) and the resulting shock wave blew the suspect to the kitchen floor.
Recovering from the recoil, I quickly delivered a series of strikes at the suspect. He desperately attempted to evade a veritable blizzard of high-speed cotton. Over and over again he scrambled for cover ... but this wasn't my first rodeo. It had been quite a few years since I last bested the same sort of creature in a contest of wits and strength in an epic battle fought in the kitchen sink. Since then my time on the range and an upgrade in weaponry had transformed me into an even more fearsome opponent. My skills were simply too advanced for him. A crippling blow knocked off six or seven of his legs (arms?) and he was mine.
I paused for a second to admire his fortitude and spirit. He was a worthy adversary. In his final moments he gazed up at me, his gaze steady and unyielding but yet, acknowledging my mastery over him. Or maybe it was his ass I was looking at. I simply can't tell one end from the other on these things. Another quick blow and it was over. Done.
It was a bittersweet victory. My relaxing, happy times with the Keurig will never be the same. From now on my survival instincts will always be on alert while contemplating that stretch of countertop.
For who knows what evil lurks in the shadowy confines of the K-cup drawer?
5 comments:
He's a wicked looking little critter.
"For who knows what evil lurks in the shadowy confines of the K-cup drawer?"
Who knows indeed. But in our house it really doesn't matter. Whatever lurks under the machine, in it or in the K-cup itself will, if the battle is tough enough, be brewed and consumed.
Nothing stands between my wife and her coffee.
Just another hairy reid clone Sig..
It could have been worse! He could have been IN a K-cup :-}
Thanks Ian, that really made my day.... uuuhhhhhhhhhhh!
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