Sunday, June 24, 2012


One time when I was 11, I was kidnapped. This crazy man and his crazy wife thought my parents were rich or something and kidnapped me.

I was riding my bike home from school when they jumped the curb in front of me in their red Mercury Topaz. The wife was driving, obviously. The man jumped out and pushed me to the ground. His wife popped the trunk.

I was locked in that trunk for hours. It was miserable.

Sometime in the middle of the night, they decided to move me from the trunk of their shitty car to the attic of their shitty house. Inside their attic, there was nothing but flip flops. And Christmas decorations. I guess even psychotics celebrate Christmas the traditional way.

But the flip flops. It’s really hard to describe. It’s not like there were piles of them. It’s more like they insulated their house with them.

The next day they let me go. I didn’t tell anyone what happened. My parents were pissed that I didn’t come home.

I later read in the paper that a couple was arrested trying to kidnap the son of the owner of a local car dealership. It was them. I think that’s who they thought I was. Idiots.

Luckily they weren’t pedophiles, or this would be an entirely different story.