And then it dawns on me that I'm still in my clothes from yesterday so that's pretty gross, especially since I have a big smear of peanut butter and chocolate on this shirt and what the hell kind of blowgun dart did they hit me with because I don't even remember feeling the prick**or hear that cartoon "Shhhhwuuup!" sound, or stumbling around dramatically like I'm beyond drunk and everything goes in slow motion and sounds get all thick and like a record player set on the wrong speed. And then I crash dramatically into a lamp and it tips over but I fall down too and then I pass out.
And then I see that my cell phone is next to my hand so these guys are either very not cautious about my calling for help and escaping, or else I'm somewhere where cell phones don't work and I start listing all those places in my head for a second but I quickly realize this isn't a bomb shelter because of the sunlight streaming through the big window over my head, and most bomb shelter don't have those and the carpeting is too nice to be a cave or inside the Lincoln Tunnel***. And I'm all proud of myself for trying to be proactive like a guy whose been thrown in a trunk and thinks to listen to all the sounds as the car drives so that later, after he escapes, he can lead TJ Hooker or Manimal or whoever back to the kidnapper's hideout. I'm so glad I went to Genius Detective School.
And then I realize that I'm still lying in my bed and for a second I think about what kind of a fucked up kidnapper brings your whole bed back to their torture dungeon, especially mine because it is a bitch to get it down my steep and narrow staircase and I'm suddenly really impressed with my abductor's ingenuity and thoughtfulness, but maybe Stockholm Syndrome is already setting in , so I can't really trust those emotions now, can I? And then I remember all the peanut butter cookies and the ice cream and Wow! I wonder how the kidnappers knew I sugar crash so hard sometimes, they must be really clever and nefarious. And then I look at my cell phone and I have a bunch of messages that say "Hey, You there?" and "Hello?" and then I finally figured out I had just fallen asleep with the lights on. Also without brushing my teeth, so my mouth pretty much tastes like an ashtray with IBS took a crap in it. And don't ask me how an ashtray can contract IBS because I think it's genetic.
* At first I typed "sex cymbal" and then I spent a bunch of time imagining some mean clown who leaps in on unsuspecting couples right as they are about to achieve orgasm and crashes big cymbals together and then I think about what a dick that clown is. Because I don't know about you, but when I'm having an orgasm the second-to-last thing I want to see is some jackass in facepaint and with big floppy shoes crashing cymbals at me. The last thing I want to see is a cop with a flashlight going "What are you doing in those bushes?"
** TWSS! TWSS!
** The Lincoln tunnel is a horrible location for a hideout, and if that's where I am then I am dealing with some real idiot kidnappers and I ought to be able to talk my way out of this one by offering them all the money in my bank accounts if they let me go, but HAHAHAHAHA joke's on them because the IRS seized all my bank accounts! Suckers!