It starts here

It all started at 8:25 on a gloomy monday morning, deep in the grasp of November. The radio alertly alerted the unalert slug lying in bed unaware that a new week had begun. After a few puny yawns, some weak attempts at rolling over, and a seriously painful elbow smash on the surrounding wall, the radio was flicked off, and the eyes were flung open...rather slowly i might add. As the victim of another sun rising, he wiped the sleep out of his now mostly open eyes, gave a stretch, a moan, and started the treck to the shower.

Now most might think a morningly treck to the shower is an easy task, but ooo no, not for this genious. In the deep basement of a comfy house on a quiet neighbourhood in the heart of Unionville, this ones morning journey is far from normal. The first task takes supreme skill, as this room in the depths of the basement has no window, nor any light sorce at any time of the day, thus finding one's doorhandle in the blackest of black can be time consuming. After a few minutes of aimless arm waving, grunts, and snarls, the door handle is located, and the rather nipply air of the underworld he calls his domain is let in. Wearing a pair of mere boxers makes this a rather fun experience to say the least.

A step out onto the thin, warn away carpet reveilles that, no, its still not summer yet, as the crisp cold fabric presses gently against the newly awoken bear feet, waking them up, just a bit. A few steps are taken, eyes still desperately trying to see some source of light to guide him across what seems like a football feild towards the bathroom. After a few more aimless steps, he meets the first of many obstacles he encounters daily, the brother's hockey equipment, nicley thrown around to dry. This may seem easy enough to get around, but you try overpowering a mound of soaking wet, sharp, discombobulating hockey pads with a rather pungent odor, and see how you fair early in the morning. What happens next would cause great laughter if it were ever seen by the outside world, but it is a must seeing as the shower awaits. Not being able to jump over it, due to the obvious fact of being awake for less than 3 minutes, or the rather low ceiling he lives under, and not wanting to actually touch the heap, he is forced back into his cavern. The duvet cover is removed from the bed, wrapped neatly around entire body, and headed back out into the black abis a top this champion of the early morn. This next process took some time to get the hang of, as rolling over a pile of fuming plasticy whatever-it's-made-of stuff, wrapped in a duvet cover should do. Once the body is completely consumed by blanket, and is slumped on the floor, the rolling begins. The acent upwards can be difficult, depending from morning to morning on what peice of equipment happens to be at the front. This very morning was easy compared to some as a mere shin guard and jock strap lay at the forefront. Once at the top, a skate to the hip and helmet to the face quickly propels the roll of fabric down the other side. At this point, diziness can be at the max, as speeds of approximately 75 km/h have been reached during the spinning descent down the mountian. Once the ground is met, the covers untangled, and the minute or so of recovery is over with, the journey continues on to the next event. Next event simply titled, the sticks.

To make a long story short, the pile of wood his youngest kin calls the hockey stick collection, is always on the far side of the mountian...and is always, always stepped on, tripped over, and then yelled at.

Next comes the ever-so-joyful tile floor into the hallway that holds le bathroom destination. Each tile more cold than the last, testing the pain threshold of this poor soul. As every bone in the body is concentrated on making it to the end of this icy hall, all else forgotten, including the (for some reason) always open cubbord door at the end of this very hall. Now before this tale continues, i'm sure we all have had the feeling of stubbing a toe, and i'm sure we've all had an experience of having a cold limb of the body being hit, both causing severe pain on their own. But take one's icy cold feet, and connect it with the corner of a cubbord door, and you get yourself one loud yelp for mercy. Simple as that.

Next comes the bathroom, finally, the bathroom, the place once so sought after, now just a resting place for a throbbing body in need of some first aid. But the fun isn't quite over, ooo no, not just yet, because lying in front of him, smiling with it's evil little glare, looms the light switch. Ah yes, how such a little flick can cause such severe pain to the head is beyond me, but it does. The flick from pitch black, to bright as day, causes what one could say, the equivalent of a heart attack to the eyes. This sudden shock can cause head jerking, leg weakening, and even has been known to cause black outs to those unprepared. Nevertheless, it has to be done, and after three minutes of regaining consciousness, the shower is in sight. The removing of the boxers, calling of thy nature, and water turning on-idge brings this beaten trooper to the end of his journey, the sighs of relief from within the shower second that thought.

Now you may be thinking to yourself, why this young buck doesn't do the unthinkable, and turn on a light or two along the way, not waiting for the shocker at the end in the washroom. Why wouldn't he move the equipment the night before? Neatly place it out of the way, give a few squirts of febreeze, and be done with it? Why couldn't he pile the hundreds of synergies off to the side, out of harm's way? Why doesnt' this trooper just wear socks out of the room? Well to him, these are all valid points, and yes, mornings could be a simple flick of the radio, and comfortable jaunt to the shower. No pain, no suffering, no frostbite, no nothing, just shower time.

Well folks...to that this guy says...that would just be too easy...!

Enjoy the blog...

'Nuf said...