A week when Good Fortune peaked
One perfectly sunny day I was strolling through some serpent- and tick-free sagebrush, in an area recommended by Betty Bell's "The Big Little Trail Guide." Unbeknownst to me, a Mexican jumping bean, which was squirming atop an anthill, flicked an arrowhead into my front pocket. I sauntered into the Bellevue Post Office where a young lady asked if she could borrow a letter opener for a tightly sealed envelope from the Idaho Lottery Commission. Shuffling through my vest, I discovered this ancient point and we soon found that she had won a large sum of money. She was so delighted that she handed me a small wad of bills with my favorite portrait of Abe Lincoln on their fronts.
Walking into the bank to deposit this money, leftover firecrackers went off celebrating the fact that I was their one-millionth customer. Their prize was an all-expenses-covered cruise to Hawaii. Boarding that same day, I met Captain Clemenson, who handed the helm over to me as soon as his phone rang, because navigating a ship while talking on a cell phone is now a violation of international shipping rules.
Little did I know that while I was in command of the ship, we had hooked onto an iceberg with one of our cables and proceeded to tow it in darkness all the way to Maui. Finding that the drinking water system on our side of the island had shut down for a few days due to volcanic ash affecting its intake, this tremendous block of un-licked ice was just what they needed to get by. We docked it into a cove just the right size and our crew was considered heroes. I had a great visit, played volleyball, got an even suntan and remained chipper and alert for the whole vacation.
Now it was time to get back. I was able to hitch a ride to California on the Tropicana cheerleader's bikini team's Lear Jet. While kicked back for a foot massage on the in-flight lemonade chair, I told some corny jokes that giggled the girls, while I showed them the arrowhead. I then enjoyed a comic book in which Richie Rich convinced Nietzsche of the plausibility of a spiritual afterlife. Soon I noticed "The War is Over" being sung by Jim Morrison and The Doors on their jet's satellite feed. Upon closer inspection I found that this was background music for an actual report about the end of a war.
With a makeshift peace banner trailing behind, I paraglide off the jet back down into San Francisco. I landed on a windy day right in front of Ripley's Museum. As trash was being blown about the waterfront, I did my part to chase some down and found among it a ticket for that night's baseball game at SBC Park.
Perched in the upper deck during an exhilarating rain in the bottom of the ninth, most of the crowd had left. But the Giants made an unbelievable comeback and clinched the pennant on Barry Bonds' 715th career homer, which I caught barehanded without spilling any Anchor Steam ale. Tossing Barry back his ball, he noticed that I too was a lefty and balanced up some celebratory champagne glasses as a batting tee for teaching me some valuable tips. He determined that to hit fair I needed to remain balanced.
Returning to Hailey from these flights of fancy, I picked up my double-parked but non-ticketed Segway at Friedman, which was untouched though I had left keys in the ignition. Confident of speeding without a helmet, I zipped cross-town through a medium volume of other scooter and hovercraft traffic to some mid valley links. Using the Segway I got in a quick game of golf, tying Wrey's legendary Warm Springs record by scoring two holes in one. Soon I traveled up the rest of the bike path at the recommended speed limit, exchanging genuine smiles with young and old alike. There were no incidents of near misses or hits, I did not twist either ankle or overstrain any other muscles and the gyroscopes of the newfangled machine were finely tuned to react perfectly to every molehill and hole.
As I headed in through the back way at work, where nobody was sick, I tossed the obsidian point into the gravel of the parking lot, hopefully leaving enough luck in it for the next finder to occasionally catch fish on first casts. Peering out the kitchen window I saw a butterfly kiss the cheek of the person who picked it up. Wolfing down a quick bowl of hardscrabble granola, I chipped zero teeth on pine nut shells. Then I proceeded to type up this paper, during which time there were no electrical surges or printer problems and spell check remained fully functional even for words I've had a hard time with, like "bikini." Then I handed in everything one minute before deadline.