The Plot.

I woke up this morning and there was a saw coming through my wall. Now, in the sake of literary integrity, this was actually about three months ago..however don't deny that it sounds more recent when I said "this morning" (I know the stupidity is intended). Anyway, here is the question...why do construction workers always try to kill me? This is a phenomenon that is unexplainable by science, religion, or the North Star.

Every time I'm around any sort of construction site - which isn't alot - I always get the sense that I will turn around and there will be some devilish hooligan bearing down on me in a Bobcat. Perhaps, this is an illusory fear. But, I swear every time I'm around they always do the fake be nice act, but I really know what is going on. I know that they are trying to trick me into believing that they are well intentioned. Then, when I'm off my guard the Bobcat will get me.

Now, my irrational fear of construction workers must have some sort of -itis name...but I don't know it, so in lieu of creative integrity I'll propose unfortunateindustrialaccidentspurredonbyschemingconstructionworker-itis. (i'm very concerned with academic integrity tonight, especially after I lost all mine with my shameless Wilt Chamberlain poem.) Anyway, i digest (digress, but shouldn't digest have a double meaning here?) (oh, and sorry for all the parentheses - i like them)

I will admit, however, that even though I have seen this fate coming I did not expect for them to bring the pain while I slept. I expected to be getting my mail when a stray nail from a nail gun would set off some catapaultic lever action and a 2x4 would launch a cinder block right for my head. I expected some sort of creativity, however, much to my chagrin I awoke to a saw inches from my head. I found this very puzzling - it was very James Bond-ish because they didn't kill me....It's one of those "we could have gotten you, but didn't just to mess with your brain" things. Something like what happened to Allen Iverson when David Stern instituted a dress code for the NBA.

Well this is the end of the story for now, but I am not going to give in to the fear, so if this blog is cut off, then you will know that (hopefully) a cinder block got me, or (unfortunately) I was beheaded by a saw in the dredges of the night.