First, I was peeing in the bathroom next to Zane’s bedroom. Through the door to his room a remote-controlled monster truck the size of a bedpan came jumping over the threshold. It stopped and turned in my direction and suddenly whizzed toward me. Still mid-urination I couldn’t move.
This little monster truck ran right up over my left foot, which caused it to turn toward me. From there it revved and revved, humping my ankle.
I quickly finished — had to do some extra cleaning because my aim had been compromised, thank you very much — and marched around the corner into Zane’s room.
There he stood giggling so maniacally I thought he might vibrate into another dimension.
I’m glad he didn’t; it would take string theorists to get him back and that might take awhile.
Second, later that night. Ann and I were standing in front of one of the couches in our living room, admiring the Christmas tree we’d just set up.
We heard it. The whizzing little loaded-diaper-sized monster truck. It wheeled around the couch and slammed into our feet. We glanced down and saw this (pay attention to the note):
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