As I arrived home from work this evening, I was met at the door by a shadowy figure in a black hood and my wife's nightgown. I immediately assumed what most men would, but as I was about to lay the smackdown, I noticed it wasn't my wife's nightgown at all...she doesn't even own a nightgown. It was my mother-in-law's nightgown...odd, but much less infuriating. Before I had a chance to inquire as to what the hell he was doing there, a low, growling voice (which sounded a bit like Norm McDonald) said "You're mailbox comes with me." "Oh yeah?!" I replied, "bring it you little bitch!" I was slightly taken aback as I realized I had tapped into some previously unknown reserve of testicular fortitude large enough to allow me to stare Death in the face and call him a little bitch. Unfazed, I held my ground. He replied "Insolent mortal! Are you unaware of the power I posess?" Now, I've played enough poker to know a bluff when I see one. I could see in his eyes...well, at least where his eyes were supposed to be...that he was sure I would back down and hand over my mailbox. But I paid $12.95 for this mailbox at the Home Depot, so I wasn't going down without a fight. Plus, if there's one thing everybody knows, Death can't stand a good Monty Python-esqe taunting. I fired back with "I fart in you're general direction! Your mother was a hamster, and your father smelt of elderberries!" Defeated, Death laid the box of cigars at my feet, slumped his bony shoulders, and shuffled away leaving my mailbox intact.


What a tool...