I Elude the Snares of an Evil Canoe Heist!

What an awful weekend.

First off, the futon has sustained another injury caused my godson, Paul, himself. There is a gash in the cushion where the fabric used to be. I checked my godson’s pockets, expecting to find a shiv or a broken glass bottle with which for him to use in his normal barfights. To my shock, all I found was a comb, so evidently he is turning even that into a weapon with which to gash my furniture and nice things. With his hair condition, he really only would need a wet towel for grooming and danderfiling, thus causing me more suspicion directed at his person. I did not question him on the comb as I did not want to stir the pot of frogs.

But the second bad thing began when I heard my godson place a phone call to a canoe rental company. It began innocently enough. He had invited me to a reunion of his family which I agreed to join, only for the purpose of protecting my name against embarrassments of mine that he may have chosen to mention. Here is the call he placed to the canoe boat rental dock place.



Now, I respect and was impressed with his thriftiness, however, mere minutes after placing this phone call, I heard him chatting with the postman and laughing about tossing me in the water. I imagine that he would like to see what my hair looks like when it is wet, and I was determined for him not to see me like that, so I called back the canoe place to ensure my protection. You can hear the call below.

EPILOGUE

I averted certain drenching by screaming and smoking constantly throughout the entire boat trip. I had alerted the people in the canoe office that if they no longer heard screams or saw my smoke signals, they should call the police. My scheme with the canoe house ended up being for naught because Paul’s family cancelled the trip after declaring that the day was “too loud and musty” to be with on the canoe. I personally thought it was a beautiful temperature, and every time I stopped screaming I could hear the lovely babblings of the brook in which we were astreamed. Their inability to detect ideal outdoor conditions furthers my suspicions that Paul’s family is nothing but drunkards.