Things have become dire.

I lost my leather shoes last night while running away from a gang who I accidentally upset by calling their leader 'Jennifer.' I'm not quite sure what happend to the show because i've got more important things to worry about. As I was running, I saw a cop. I screamed and yelped, but no avail, I didn't get her attention. I had to do something, so as I was running, I scooped up a handful of snow, formed it into a nice solid ball, and whipped it at her car squad car.

I missed and hit her in the eye.

She thought she'd been hit by shrapnel because of all the stones and glass in the snowball. She pulled out her gun and started shooting at me. In order to protect myself from the flurry of bullets, I flipped a garbage can upside down, put it over my upper torso, and started running again. Little did I know, the garbage can still had garbage in it. And not just any garbage, but garbage from an East-Indian curry restaurant.

I couldn't see where I was going and I was terribly disoriented by the putrid smell, but I had to keep running. I had a gang and an angry cop trying to kill me.

By now, my feet were really starting to hurt. I wasn't sure where I was going, but I knew I had to get somewhere warm and quite; somwhere I could lay low for a while. I ran into a department store and hid behind a couch in the furinture section. The cop and the gang seemed to be gone, but my troubles were far from over.

A sales associate from the department store asked me if I needed any help. I removed the trash can and, because I was afriad of standing out or causing a scene, I said that indeed I did need help. The salesman showed me a few couches and love seats. Some of them were very nice, but because my mind was elsewhere, I couldn't quite focus. I ended up buying a $3,000 sofa bed. The problem is that I don't have the money. I paid by cheque and told the friendly man i'd be back the next day to pick it up with my Ford pickup truck and my three teenage sons.

I don't have any kids that I know of, and I think pickup trucks are for rednecks.

I left the store through the rear exit, and ran across the street to a Burger King. I told the lifer behind the counter that I need to use the phone. He said I couldn't unless I purchased something. I ordered some chicken fingers and they were awful. Once I was finally allowed to use the phone, I called my lawyer to let him know about my misfortunes.

"I'm at a burger king and I stink like curry," I said.

"I'm being hunted by a ravenous gang, I've assualted a cop, written a fraudulent cheque, jay walked, and my feet are cold as shit."

After I was done my ran, I suddenly realized that I dialed the wrong number. I actually called my grandmother instead of my lawyer. She died of shock from the phone call. My cousin told me. He also told me that I ate highly contaminated chicken and that I'm the first person in North America to contract the avian flu. He's a doctor. The cops and gangs and furniture stores are still looking for me too. Oh, and let's not forget the East Indian guy who's out an aluminum garbage can.