It was snowing again. Where did it get the nerve? Here it was, the First Day of Spring, and it had the gall to be snowing. This was bad form on Mother Nature’s part, no doubt about it.
When probed about this gaffe, Mother Nature laid the blame at the feet of Old Man Winter, which were usually frostbitten. No one knew why this was the case because he could afford heavy boots. Perhaps it was due to his senility – or the fact that he wore open-toed sandals year-round.
Old Man Winter’s podiatrist was on call 24/7, but he was well compensated for his services. He would have to be since he went home most nights his hands smelling of Old Man Winter’s feet. There was a reason why Old Man Winter’s podiatrist was still a bachelor at 38.
One night while he was out on the town, Old Man Winter’s podiatrist forgot himself and put his hand in a pot of chili at a restaurant. He was looking for the restroom when he took a wrong turn and wound up in the kitchen. The staff was immediately in an uproar and the hapless foot doctor found himself backed into a corner. Instinctively he had his hands up, but when he was told to put them down one of them went straight into a pot of chili bubbling on the stove. He went to the hospital with second-degree burns on his hand and, strangely enough, his shoulder.
Of the 23 people who subsequently ate the chili, which the head chef had refused to throw out, 22 went to the same hospital to have their stomachs pumped. The restaurant was charged with dozens of health code violations and was shut down. The head chef was given his walking papers. He asked if they could be rolling papers instead. His legs were immediately broken so he would require a wheelchair. The chef never walked again.
Miraculously, the one person who didn’t have his stomach pumped and lived to tell the tale developed superpowers, which he was determined to use only for good. Unfortunately, his only power was the ability to spontaneously generate underpants. This made showering a challenge and intercourse a near-impossibility, but he honed his skills over the years and by the time he died he was able to make a stocking that covered his body from head to toe. The first time he tried it he forgot to make it out of a breathable fabric, though, and he was too feeble to break out of it before he ran out of oxygen. The mortician tried every trick of the trade he knew to remove it, but could not, so in the end he had to be buried in it. It made an open-casket funeral pointless, though.
That night the mortician went home and cried himself to sleep on his pillow. What he didn’t know at the time was that he actually cried himself to sleep on his mogwai, which immediately generated a half-dozen evil siblings that wasted no time finding something to eat so they could transform into gremlins and commit their usual pranks, japes and shenanigans. You remember the night the whole town burned down? Well, it was the mortician’s fault.
The nerve of that guy.