Showdown at the Monkey Attack Victim's Corral

I don't know if you are aware of this or not, but at times, I am a bit of a moron. A walking catastrophe, if you will. In any situation, one can usually take one of two courses of action. One is the sensible, normal path, which I hear most people take. The other is the bizarre, usually goofy, path. This path seems to be the path that I tend to take. I mean, I get attacked by monkeys. I get stuck in the woods and walk into barbed wire. I get my bottom stuck on the drain of the pool. Strange men at the pool will swim up and lick my toes. Basically, what I am saying is that if something goofy could happen, it WILL happen to me.

A little background, I used to live in the country. Some of you may be thinking about how nice and relaxing the country must be. Here's something they don't tell you about: roosters. Roosters that crow (cock-a-doodle?) every. freaking. morning the minute the sun rises. Unless you happen to live next to a saw mill, in which case, you are dealing with insomniac roosters that cock-a-doodle all. day. long.

One morning, I received my special wake-up call a little earlier than usual. The rooster was right outside my bedroom window and being especially annoying. I walked to the entryway and saw the BB pistol that my nephew had left sitting out. I stare at the pistol for a few moments and come to a conclusion. Today? The bird gets it. So, I started inspecting the gun, trying to figure out how to cock it. It wouldn't cock. I fiddled and fiddled with it. Somehow in the midst of my fiddling, I pulled the trigger. And, it went off.

After a bit of unnecessary ducking for cover and completely necessary cursing, I began the BB search. I couldn't tell where the BB went, nor did I see it anywhere. But, all the windows appeared to be intact, so I returned to my regular morning routine, grumbling about how I was going to get that blasted rooster someday.

The next day, I smelled something odd in the entry way, a weird liquor/coffee scent. I didn't really think much of it. I decided the smell was somehow emanating from the Kahlua bottle that was sitting on the table. I'd purchased the bottle in Mexico and figured it was more potent than the American kind. So, I went on with my day.

The next day, I set to work cleaning up my house. I picked the Kahlua bottle up to put it in the cabinet and noticed it was several ounces low. This was confusing since I could see that the seal hadn't been broken. I started looking around the bottle and realized that it was cracked. I was like, what is up with the freaking Mexico Kahlua? Why do all the bottles break? (I had recently had a bad experience with another bottle of Kahlua from Mexico, a suitcase, and my entire wardrobe) I continued with my mental tirade. What is going on? Look at this crack in the bottle. There's a hole. Like something punctured it...

Ooooooh.

That's were the BB went.

Yes. I shot my bottle of Kahlua which leaked on to the table where I had set it--explaining why my entry way reeked of Kahlua. See, this is not a normal thing. Normal people don't LITERALLY shoot their liquor.