Silly Putty

Dear Diary,

For almost a year now, I have been performing in a comedy troupe with my friend Todd Hubb who is a famous motivational speaker. Todd has been following me around the country, thinking I’m his pet project and that he must “fix” me. He thinks that there’s something wrong with me since I ran away from my wife after fooling her into maxing out all our credit, quitting her high-paying job and getting pregnant. It’s been eighteen months since I last saw my wife; I wonder how the baby’s doing.

For the record, I don’t think there’s anything “wrong” with me. I’m not that great with responsibility. So what? That doesn’t make me a “bad” dad. How can anyone say I’m a “no good” parent when no one’s ever even seen me be a parent, not even my own baby. I don’t even know this baby, and this kid’s probably thinking their dad abandoned them - so they don’t know if their dad is good or bad. How could they when their dad wanted nothing to do with them and bolted so he wouldn’t have to do things like pay bills, change diapers or tell people to be quiet because the baby’s sleeping? Being a dad is hard, man; I don’t want that, but don’t judge me until I’m actually given a chance to be a dad. And I’ve never been given that chance. I ran, okay? I didn’t stick around. Get your facts straight, people.

Anyway, back in January, Todd and I formed a comedy troupe called Silly Putty. Todd and I go from bar to bar, making a living performing topical sketches. We don’t make a lot and sleep in alleyways (Todd is also broke, having lost control of all his assets to his wife). After about our third sketch, we usually get booed off stage (mostly for not making sense, not being topical, and not performing comedy). This is why we always ask to be paid in advance. When we hear that first collective, unanimous boo, we take our money and race for the nearest exit to an alleyway where we sleep for the night. We then spend the next day bouncing ideas off one another, writing new sketches and procuring costumes and props from the alleyway’s garbage bins.

We now have five, large garbage bags stretched to the limit with props and costumes which we lug to every show. These bags contain all manner of clothing, pipes, an abandoned porcelain toilet, etc. – all for our five-minute set.

Last night, we tried this topical sketch for the first time. Here’s how it went:

I entered the stage as an elderly lady, with white wig, tight blouse and see-through pantyhose.

ME (as elderly lady): The economy is bad news.

Todd, wearing a bonnet, wheeled onto the stage, his six-foot frame spilling out of a rusted pram.

TODD (as a small infant): Well, you know what they say: no news is good news.

ME (as elderly lady): I need a drink.

TODD (as the baby): I’m placing you under arrest.

ONE AUDIENCE MEMBER: Boo!

And then:

SEVERAL AUDIENCE MEMBERS: Boo! Boo!

ME (as elderly lady): Knock. Knock.

The audience kept booing.

TODD (as baby): Who’s there?

ME (as elderly lady): Bad news.

ANOTHER AUDIENCE MEMBER: Get off the stage, you losers!

I gripped the pram’s handle, lobbed our five full garbage bags and toilet atop Todd and launched the pram off the stage, into the audience. I then jumped off myself, and pushed Todd, the props, and the pram through the audience sitting at tables.

TODD (to me): Run! Run!

We needed to make a break for it. We had already been paid, and the audience was getting aggressive. All the tables and people, however, were in our way, so we were moving at a snail’s pace.

ME: Everyone, please move out of our way!

AUDIENCE MEMBER: Where are you going?

ME: Bathroom break! We need a bathroom break! Please let us through!

Showbiz...

Todd-ler On The Roof

Dear Diary,

After living in the mountains for the past four months with famous spiritual writer, and somewhat slacker-looking, thirty-something Todd Hubb, we both decided to go on a “quest” for the subject of his next multi-million dollar bestseller, but since Todd’s wife has recently taken control of his assets, we now have to resort to doing radio shows for funds, with long hair naturally dread-locking, filthy, long-bearded faces, and me wearing nothing but a plastic garbage bag.

A few days ago, Todd and I attempted to do Todd’s first radio call-in show since he left for the mountains but Todd ended up crying about his wife leaving him.

The radio station manager, a gruff 50-ish man who smelled like 40-cent cigars, looked for me all over the station. He finally found me alone in the green room, stuffing my face (I hadn’t eaten anything that most naturalists would call “edible” in about four months).

STATION MANAGER: There you are. Todd is threatening to jump off the roof, and he’s asking for you.

ME: Oh my God… No…

STATION MANAGER: You’re probably the only person who can talk him out of it.

ME: How do I do this? Let me collect my thoughts for a second.

STATION MANAGER: We don’t have much time.

The station manager marched off. And stomped back, a half hour later.

STATION MANAGER: He’s really freaking out right now.

I was now sitting on the couch, staring at the TV, enjoying The View (I hadn’t seen anything that most geek bloggers would call “must see” in about four months).

I held up an index finger to my lips to signal “hush”, and then another index finger to signal “one minute”, never once taking my intense gaze off the television screen.

STATION MANAGER: Come up as soon as you can. Your friend might die today.

The station manager plodded off. And clomped back, an hour later.

STATION MANAGER: What are you doing? Your best friend is now hanging from the ledge by his hands!

I was awakened by his rather loud voice as I lay on the comfy couch I had fallen asleep on (I hadn’t enjoyed anything that most insomniacs would call “a restful repose” in about four months).

ME: Can’t a guy get a rest around here without people gibbering and jabbering about jumping and hanging off ledges and such?

The station manager groused something inaudible and was gone. He soldiered back, two hours later, with five NYPD officers who forced me to the roof as I kicked, screamed and bit.

On the roof, the police finally let go and I approached Todd’s fingers, as Todd was hanging off the edge of the building by his fingertips.

ME (stone-faced): How’s it hangin’?

Todd didn’t answer me.

ME: I know you’re upset.

He still said nothing.

ME: My grandma Gertie used to say, whatever you’re upset about, it probably still has something to do with the first time you were ever upset about something. Can you remember what you were first upset about? In your life?

TODD: My mother never let me eat caramels. Every kid had caramels but me. My mother would never allow it.

ME: Your mom was a bitch. See… that’s what you’re upset about. You still want those delicious caramels but everybody keeps saying, “Hey, you aren’t good enough for caramels.” People know that you don’t deserve caramels, and they know that you’re not worth giving any caramels to. Suddenly your mom doesn’t seem to be such a bitch, does she? You’re the bitch.

Todd looked up into my eyes. Tears streamed down to his chin.

TODD: How do you keep going on? For the life of me, I can’t imagine how. You left your wife pregnant, and with a debt that is going to take at least four generations of hard toil to pay off, and you plan on never going back, don't you. You are probably the most despicable human being I have ever met. How do you live with yourself? Why haven’t you killed yourself? If I were you, I would have killed myself a long long time ago. How do you do it, Eric? What’s your secret?

ME: Well, for starters, you are not the first person to have asked me this very question. And this has been my answer every time. My secret is: even though I have failed at everything I have ever tried, everyone who comes into contact with me ends up much worse for it and everything I touch turns to vomit… every time I walk past a mirror or I see my reflection in a window, I like what I see.

I smiled down at Todd. My teeth were caked in tartar and plague, my hair was bunched up in filth and my face was blackened and hairy with four months of unsanitary mountain living.

ME: When I was a kid, I was so pleased with what I saw that I used to kiss myself in the mirror. Now I open-mouth kiss myself. As I get older, I know that one day others will come to see how beautiful this face is, and that will be a fabulous day.

TODD: When they see what? I don’t get it.

ME: My face.

TODD: Your face?

ME: The public will discover it one day.

TODD: And what are they supposed to do?

ME: Rejoice. You see, I bring beauty into this world. That’s my job.

TODD: What’s my job?

ME: Maybe your face balances things out… I don’t know.

I winked and smiled, showcasing a plague-encrusted set of teeth.

ME: Now do you see it?

TODD: I see quite the opposite, actually.

A police chopper approached, slicing the afternoon sky overhead, soon to be followed by a news chopper.

CHOPPER COP ON A MEGAPHONE: What’s going on? What are you guys doing?

ME (to Todd): Give me a pocket mirror and I’ll make out with myself, you’ll see.

TODD (to me): Call an officer over. I can’t hold on anymore.

ME: Just wait a sec. I’ll make out with my hand.

TODD: Officers! Help! I can’t hold on anymore!

I turned to the onslaught of NYPD officers racing toward us.

ME: Officers! Halt! He needs to see this first!

I turned back to Todd as I licked and open-mouth kissed both my hands and the cops body-checked me.

As the officers pulled Todd to safety, he looked down at me.

TODD: Thank you. Just now, the universe spoke to me through you. I’m not meant to die today. You are one lost dude and I’m meant to help you find your way again.

ME: I think when your mother didn’t let you have caramels, she was really trying to say you don’t deserve to live.

Spreading Our Message

Dear Diary,

The good news is that I’m in New York City, enjoying the beautiful wintry landscape with my millionaire, celebrity, best friend of all time, Todd. The bad news is that we haven’t showered or shaved in four months and it’s January and all I have covering my bare skin is a plastic garbage bag over a pair of old, musty boxer shorts and Todd is no longer in control of his assets so we’re homeless.

I was about to leave Todd in an alley the other day because he’s broke.

TODD: You can’t leave. We still have our quest.

Todd is on a quest to find an ancient spiritual message allegedly written on a cave wall somewhere in France. Once he discovers it, he plans to write a best selling book about it, and share his newfound earnings with me.

ME: Can I just get an advance on those earnings? Two million should do it.

TODD: I don’t have any money. You know that.

ME: Damn it all!

I pondered for a moment.

ME: Then how were we supposed to get to France?

TODD: I do radio shows in the city. They pay me lots.

ME: Let’s go. I need those millions to pay off some bills. And we need to get this stupid quest over with so I can finally ditch you.

We walked to a radio station as the snow fell in chunks and I was in my bare feet.

The doorman at the station smiled at Todd, recognizing him even though he was much thinner than the last time he was in the city, and we both now sported long, filthy hair knotting up in dreads, beards to our chests and faces covered in dirt.

We were soon wearing headphones and on the air.

FEMALE RADIO HOST: Hello everyone. This morning we have famous spiritual leader and writer Todd Hubb to take your calls. Some of you may be experiencing some Holiday blues, and that’s why Todd is here, so call in and Todd will heal you with his words of wisdom as he always does.

TODD: Thank you Kathy…

Todd’s voice cracked with emotion as he said, “ Kathy.” He then burst into loud crying.

KATHY: Hello caller. Pardon me. Todd…

MALE CALLER: Who’s crying?

TODD: Go ahead caller…

MALE CALLER: Well, I find it extremely difficult to wake up in the morning. I just don’t have that zest anymore.

Todd really wailed this time.

KATHY: Todd, are you all right?

TODD: My wife left me! I’m a worthless, despicable human being!

ME: You might be exaggerating a bit.

MALE CALLER: What about me? What about my problems? You suck, you cry baby!

TODD: I wish I was dead.

KATHY: Perhaps we should just go to a commercial.

Another caller came on the line.

FEMALE CALLER: Hello? Am I on the air?

KATHY: Hello caller. If I can just get you to hang on a moment--

FEMALE CALLER: My name is Marie and I think I might be suicidal.

TODD: How do I get to the roof from here?

I had to intercede.

ME: Hello Marie, this is Todd.

I was lying but this young lady’s life depended on it. I continued my charade as Todd ran from the room, shrieking with tragic abandon.

ME: Marie, taking your own life won’t solve anything.

Kathy, the radio host, wiped her brow with a pink handkerchief, nodding her head for me to continue. I nodded back, confidence brimming over. I knew exactly what to do.

ME: Marie… tell me what your problems are and I’ll solve them for you.

MARIE: Really?

ME: You can depend on me.

MARIE: I think my boyfriend finds my sister cuter than me, and I think he might leave me. Todd, what should I do?

ME: Whoa… that’s a tough one. Let me think… You know what, I can’t help you.

MARIE: What? You have to help me, or I’m going to kill myself.

Marie was now sobbing.

MARIE: I mean it. That’s it. I’m done with life.

I looked over at Kathy whose jaw was touching her knees.

ME: How do I hang up?

The Townhouse Mansion

Dear Diary,

I’ve been hanging with a slacker thirty-something dude named Todd for four months now, living in the mountains, growing beards, growing hair, and collecting dirt-stains on our bodies while I’ve been wearing nothing but a plastic garbage bag over worn-out, tissue thin boxer shorts.

A few days ago, we hitchhiked into Manhattan to Todd’s townhouse mansion. Todd is an extremely popular and successful motivational speaker and writer.

When we arrived at the doorstep of his mansion, I was aghast. And awed. The place reached up into the cold gray sky with Christmas decorations in every window.

The door opened, revealing a beautiful young woman with long blond hair and an angelic face exquisitely accented with a Popsicle cold expression.

Todd’s face lit up.

TODD: Sharon…

SHARON: Where have you been?

TODD: I’ve… I’ve been in the mountains.

ME: Sharon, you are responding to your husband from a place of material things. In the mountains, we came to learn that the material world is a road to hell and unhappiness. You were not in the mountains so you wouldn’t know this.

SHARON: Who is this?

ME: Answer Todd from your essence being. You may not understand this at first, being as how you are the kind of person who cares only about things and trinkets and gadgets.

SHARON: Is this another one of your bottom feeder “friends”, trying to leech money off of you.

TODD: Eric has been a good friend to me.

ME (to Sharon): We didn’t need money where we were. And we don’t need money now. One day, perhaps, you’ll grow to feel like we do, and not be so ugly and gross on the inside.

Sharon ignored me and turned to Todd.

SHARON: The board is ready to have you committed, and they’ve signed over control of all our assets to me.

ME: Sharon, nobody cares. Assets… they’re just things. Things to buy your widgets and doodahs and curly fries.

TODD: Why would the board want me committed? I am not crazy, Sharon.

ME: Sharon, you and this board are concerned with things that no one cares about, or that matter.

Sharon kept her attention on Todd.

SHARON: You’re not crazy? Are you kidding me? You’ve spent the better part of four months with a man in a garbage bag.

ME: This is all I need. It’s all anyone who is truly enlightened needs. I’m practically naked under here.

TODD: Sharon, let us in. We can talk about this inside.

ME: I can help you two work something out. Not financially, but emotionally and spiritually.

SHARON: Go back to your mountain.

ME: Sharon, if I had one wish I could ask a genie right now, it would be to make you see how money is making you miserable. Let it go. Trust me, your disgusting selfish self will thank me.

SHARON: Leave.

ME: You might have control of Todd’s assets but you don’t control who’s allowed inside his mansion.

TODD: Eric, I’m afraid she does. Sharon now controls all my assets.

ME: I’m just talking about all your money, and your food, and a roof over my head.

TODD: We have to leave. All of it, it isn’t mine anymore.

I pondered for a moment.

ME: None… nothing…

Todd shook his head.

I lunged for Sharon, reaching my hands toward her throat.

ME (to Sharon): I’ve been freezing in this bag for four months, you cow!

Todd yanked me back.

SHARON: Get this scavenger off my property.

I grabbed hold of her hand, and a bracelet.

ME: Just give me this bauble, just to pay off a few things.

TODD: Eric, let go!

SHARON: Todd, I will call the police.

I released her.

ME: Maybe you can just buy me a few things for Christmas. I’ve made a mental list.

Sharon slammed the door in our faces.

I turned and spied her through the living room window, marching past. I vaulted from the front steps onto the living room window ledge.

ME (shouting at Sharon): Just buy me a few things! Canned meat, a second-hand sweater, a second-hand pair of boxers!

For the next ten minutes, I scaled from window ledge to window ledge, following her from room to room, begging her to buy me stuff.

ME: You have so much money, and all I want are a few things to enjoy... to covet.

Sirens blared as police cruisers screeched onto the street.

TODD: Let’s get out of here!

I came hurtling down from a bathroom window ledge.

ME: I feel so empty!

We scuttled into an alley. When we were at a safe distance, we stopped, panting, and I turned to Todd.

ME: See you later.

TODD: You’re leaving me?

ME: You have no money. I don’t have time for this crap.

Le Message

Dear Diary,

I’ve been living in the mountainous wild somewhere in the State of New York for over four months now with a newfound, thirtysomething, slacker-looking friend named Todd. I ran away from my pregnant wife after duplicitously making her spend all our money and bankrupting us. I now wear a plastic garbage bag over my threadbare boxer shorts.

Two days ago, Todd and I decided to leave for a “quest” which he has assured me will net us each millions in cash. Todd is a motivational speaker who ran away himself after getting down. He now feels refreshed and has asked me to join him on his latest big money endeavor.

This morning, we hitchhiked into Manhattan, heading for Todd’s mansion townhouse. In the backseat of the car, I asked Todd what this “quest” was all about. I did this between two major bouts of the giggles (we do this often, never knowing what we’re laughing about). The driver who picked us up kept giving us nervous, terrified looks.

TODD: For years, many of us in the motivational speaking and publishing industry--

ME (cutting him off): Wow, I’ve never heard you speak so eloquently and concisely before. For four months I thought you were a complete idiot and I hated you. I’m sorry.

TODD: I didn’t know that you hated me. That must have been a terrible feeling to carry around for all these months, freezing in your garbage bag. I’m sorry.

He reached out and we hugged each other then. Really hard. It felt freeing.

TODD: So… people in the motivational industry have long known of a message written thousands of years ago on a cave wall--

ME (interrupting): You know, during our four months together, I went to a cave once to pick out a rock to kill you with. I was just so annoyed with you. I think I was getting stir crazy. I’m sorry. Anyway, if I had known you were so informed about ancient messages on cave walls, I wouldn’t have thought you were worthless enough to murder with a rock.

TODD: Oh my God, and you held that in for four whole months. It must have crushed you.

ME: It did. It was unbearable, especially having to carry that rock around, waiting for the perfect opportunity to smash you with it.

TODD: Come here.

Todd took me into his arms and held me for a few minutes. It felt nice, just being quiet and nurtured.

TODD: Everyone wants to find this message in this cave so that they can publish a best-selling book. Legend says it can be found near Angoulême in western France, and that the message tells the truth about why we are here on this planet, what we are all meant to do with our lives and how to be happy. Forever.

ME: I tried to poison you once with pebbles and bark. I mixed them into your water canteen and waited all day for you to die, spying on you from behind trees and such.

TODD: I am so sorry. What a burden to have to hold onto. And all that waiting, that wasted time.

ME: I’m glad you finally realize that.

We hugged again, rocking each other back and forth for almost half an hour.

TODD: I plan on finding this message first and making it my next multi-million dollar success. I’m going to call it Le Message.

ME: Thank you for taking me on your quest. I still have that rock under my garbage bag as we speak but I swear I’m just saving it as a souvenir.

Todd took out his water canteen and put it to his lips for a drink, but then stopped.

TODD: Why is this rattling?

I wrestled the canteen from his grasp, rolled down the window and pitched it.

TODD: I think I’d like to have that rock that you’re hiding under your bag.

ME: On your head?

A Four-Month Getaway Weekend

Dear Diary,

I live in a cabin somewhere in the mountains of the State of New York with a new friend named Todd, a slacker-looking, thirty-something dude with an overgrown mop-top haircut.

I ran away from my newly pregnant wife over four months ago and haven’t looked back since. She was angry with me for 3 major reasons. These were:

1) Pretending to still be employed for most of the summer

2) Lying about being promoted to a position where I made unbelievable amounts of cash

3) Telling her to quit her job, get pregnant, and max out all our credit

Once my wife discovered the truth I booked it, ending up here in the wilderness where I’ve been living with Todd in a cabin with no power, running water, fireplace, insulation, or roof. Basically it’s a hunting cabin that burned down decades ago but half a wall still stands and we sleep against it at night in one big garbage bag, holding on to one another in an attempt to fight off hypothermia. I also wear the garbage bag during the day since I have no clothes, having stripped down to my boxers while bolting from my wife.

Last night, I had a hard time getting to sleep.

TODD: Stop rolling around. You keep moving the garbage bag and waking me.

ME: I can’t live like this anymore, Todd. It’s been four months. And there’s nothing to do here but hang out against this wall. And all I’ve eaten is the mushrooms and weeds that you find. I’m starving, Todd. And, goddamnit, I need a shower. My hair’s all greasy, and in some spots, it’s rock hard.

TODD: When we decided to move up here in the mountains, you told me that you’d help with gathering food and hunting but you haven’t done a thing.

ME: Living here wasn’t a decision we made. We got stuck here after getting kicked out of that truck that picked us up last summer because we couldn’t stop giggling.

TODD: I wasn’t laughing at anything in particular. I just had the giggles.

ME: So did I, but two grown men with the giggles in the enclosed space of a truck can get pretty annoying. Especially when the reason these two men are giggling isn’t so apparent to the driver who just picked them up hitchhiking, and one of the hitchhikers happens to be in nothing but really loose boxer shorts.

TODD (adding): Which keep falling because the elastic is so threadbare.

ME: I can’t do this anymore, Todd. I can’t. I haven’t done a thing in four months. I mean I know nothing about you and for four months I’ve been sleeping next to you in a garbage bag. Do you see what I’m getting at?

TODD: You’re not happy here? We’re free from all our problems here.

ME: It’s snowing, Todd. And I’m not sure if you’ve noticed lately but I barely have anything covering my genitalia. If we don’t leave here, we are going to die.

TODD: Can’t we just stay a bit longer? I’m not ready to face the world yet.

ME: Todd, I’m not saying we have to go back to our regular lives yet. We could be transients someplace else… where I at least have a shirt or a towel or something. It’s just that I need something more in life than a wall that’s half burned down.

TODD: Where would we go?

ME: I don’t know. Maybe I can get some job making photocopies in an office or something. You can find a job too. What did you do before you ran away?

TODD: I was a motivational speaker.

ME: What the hell happened?

TODD: I got depressed.

I looked up at our half-burned down wall.

ME: You must have been really down.

TODD: I was successful too.

ME: And you lost everything?

TODD: No. I still have a townhouse mansion in Manhattan.

ME: What? And I’ve been sleeping against this wall for four months naked in a garbage bag!

TODD: I needed to get away.

ME: You made me eat a raccoon once, raw, and I think it may have still been alive.

TODD: You looked peaked.

ME: I’m outta here.

TODD: Where are you going?

ME: Your mansion. I need to thaw out.

TODD: I’m headed somewhere else. I now know what I need to do.

ME: And what’s that?

TODD: My quest. It’s time I finish it.

ME: Screw your quest. I’m dying, you moron. We probably have scurvy.

TODD: It’s what I was running from. I just got flustered.

ME: Flustered? You almost killed yourself here in these sadistic conditions. You make me so sick, I’d throw up on you right now if I had something in my stomach. Throw up: that’s what someone as pathetic as you deserves out of life. Get out of my face before I strangle you with my skivvies.

TODD: It’s a quest that will make us both millions of dollars.

ME (changing my tone): Let me grab my garbage bag.

A Meeting in New York, Part 2

Dear Diary,

I was in the meeting room of the New York head office of the accounting firm I used to work at when I finally revealed to my wife that I had been fired from my photocopy guy job over a month ago and had kept my unemployment a secret from her, all the while (so that she wouldn't suspect anything) encouraging her to max out all our credit cards, quit her job and get pregnant. The full meeting room, and six uniformed security guards who apprehended us, watched on as my wife, wearing a newly purchased Christian Dior gown, tried to murder me with a squinty-eyed look.

I blushed, as I smartly sported a brand new Savile Row suit.

ME (shy-like): Were you about to say something?

MY WIFE: We're broke! We're completely broke!

ME: What would make you say that?

SECURITY GUARD #1: Let's go.

The guards led us toward the elevators.

MY WIFE: You pledged six hundred million dollars for a hospital to be built.

ME: I don't actually have to give it. I don't even know what the word "pledged" means anyway.

All six guards escorted us onto the elevator.

MY WIFE: It means you said you would give somebody six hundred million dollars.

The elevator doors closed behind us.

ME: You said you were going to join Kitty LaRue's knitting club and you never did.

MY WIFE: Knitting club? How's that the same? Sick children won't have to do without.

ME: What about your bouncy demeanor and your sparkling conversation? Kitty LaRue and the knitting club now have to do without!

MY WIFE: I quit my job. I maxed out all our credit. I got pregnant. All because you told me to. Eric, I don't even know where to begin. Our lives... they're completely ruined...

ME: Well, you said you'd join the knitting club and you didn't. You lied to me! To my face!

MY WIFE: Don't try to turn this around.

ME: You don't try to turn this around! I am really mad at you!

SECURITY GUARD #2: Sir, calm down.

ME: I was looking forward to all that stuff you were going to knit!

MY WIFE: Eric, what are we going to do. We owe thousands and thousands of dollars, not to mention the six hundred million. We have nothing. Nothing... Oh God...

ME: What am I going to do? I thought I was getting knitted goods for Christmas, and my birthday, and our anniversary. Oh God! Our anniversary!

MY WIFE: Eric! Listen to me! You don't understand what you've--

I shouted then, stepping all over my wife's angry words.

ME: Our anniversary won't have any sockettes! Or a shaker knit sweater with a big snowflake around the neck! What am I supposed to do now! Oh God! Oh God! Please listen to my prayers!

SECURITY GUARD #1: Sir! Calm down!

My wife looked into my eyes.

MY WIFE: I'll deal with you when we get home.

ME (hesitantly): We don't have a home, honey. Not anymore.

The elevator doors opened onto the lobby.

And I made a break for it.

I flew out the giant glass doors onto the sidewalk, and never slowed down. Or looked back. My shoulders collided into a few pedestrians as I loosened my tie. I threw off my suit jacket. I thought of how my wife was angry and hated me. I thought of everyone who ever hated me. I ran from all my debt, my responsibilities, and soon, my consciousness. When I came to, I was covered in sweat, down to my boxers, and lying on a dirt road in the woods, miles and miles from that meeting in New York City.

As the hot sun beat down on my glistening body, I put my head in my arms and cried. I really cried. All the disappointment, all the failures, all the times I almost had my first success at something, however small, but didn't. I bawled. I let it all out.

And that was when a transport truck screeched on all eighteen of its wheels as it came to a stop a fraction of an inch from my head. I looked up, wiping the tears from my face.

A skinny young man with a mop-top haircut jumped down from the passenger side and soon stood over me.

SKINNY YOUNG MAN: Dude, your body's glistening.