Bird Hands
- Kent Wicklander
No One Messes With Lance Armstrong
Terrence is an Olympic runner, but these days he’s no spring chicken. The last time he qualified for the games was in 1996, and he came in last place in the event in which he competed. However, he got a renewed sense of purpose when he ran into Lance Armstrong at a park one evening, and Lance offered to train him for the next summer Olympics. Today, he trains about 10 minutes every week with his 3 pet dogs and Lance Armstrong, jogging around the park by his house. One of his biggest obstacles when training with Lance Armstrong has been the fact that Lance Armstrong is an expert at riding bicycles, not running. A lot of his training ideas involve moving one’s legs in a circular fashion, as if pedaling while riding a bicycle, and naturally it is impossible to balance when doing this because it requires the defying of gravity. Terrence has done his best to use these strategies, but they simply don’t work.
One night as Terrence was about to go to sleep, he heard the sound of glass breaking. He got up, and walked to the front door. Lance Armstrong was standing there, deadpan expression, holding a baseball bat.
“What’s up Lance?” Terrence asked.
Lance Armstrong didn’t say a word. He stood there, his eyes boring holes into Terrence’s soul. He stepped forward a few steps. And then a few more steps. He was getting close to Terrence.
“Lance, is there a problem? What are you doing here? It’s late…”
Lance Armstrong swung the bat at Terrence’s left knee. His bone jutted out the side of his knee and he crumpled to the ground on his back, screaming. Lance calmly moved around to get a better angle, and swung the bat down on the fallen Terrence’s right knee, shattering the kneecap. He dropped the bat to the floor and walked back towards the door. He turned his head around half way back towards Terrence and muttered “No one messes with Lance Armstrong…”
- Kent Wicklander
Roofus Woggins
I apologize for not having updated more recently, but I just recently had my leg amputated and replaced with a pirate style peg leg. Perhaps I will go into more detail at a later date, but now I have some important information to relate to you all.
Roofus Woggins was born in Indianapolis in 1972. On the car ride back from the hospital, he managed to wriggle free from his mother’s grasp and leap out the window of the moving vehicle. That night he met up with a small community of stranded infants who had built houses, restaurants, stores, cars, and so on. They welcomed him into their community, and he lived there for the next 5 years. At the age of 5, he wandered off into the wilderness with no food or water. The only human life he could find in a several mile radius was a small gas station along the road he arrived from 5 years prior.
When the gas station attendant saw the 5 year old child waddle up, he was quite surprised. Roofus proceeded to walk up to one of the gas pumps, place the nozzle in his mouth, and begin pumping. This massive infusion of gasoline near tripled the size of Roofus over the next 10 minutes. The attendant watched in awe; only years later did it occur to him that he should have stopped the child, or at least called someone. But he did not do that, instead he simply watched and slowly ate his sandwich.
Around that time, a rusty red truck pulled into the gas station, next to Roofus. A fat man in overalls and straw hat stepped out of the vehicle next to Roofus, and cleared his throat loudly to announce his presence. It took Roofus a few seconds to realize that the driver needed to use the pump, but after he handed it over, a lifelong friendship developed.
Today, Roofus lives with the fat man in overalls in his shack in Paris, Texas. He sleeps in the coffin the fat man has in his basement (formerly containing his dead wife, he emptied the coffin of her body to make room for Roofus). Generally they spend most of their time sitting around the living room, drinking half empty beers they find in their neighbor’s garbage. Every Thursday however, they drive around town, hollering at the teenage girls at the local high school.
- Kent Wicklander
