It’s Kirk Douglas’ birthday today! Celebrate 98 years of Hollywood mastery by eating Kirk’s favourite, roasted stones, or by getting caught up on the Advent adventure with these previous posts:
In the blink of a guy with a winky blinky eye you find yourself riding a motorcycle with reindeer antler handlebars, cruising down a lonely, sunny, desert highway. There isn’t any music playing but if you really think it’ll complete the scene, let’s pretend you’re listening to this:
You’re happy that you’re finally out of the North Pole but kind of disappointed that you only got to hang with Blitzen for a couple of minutes. He’s been the loosest dude you’ve met on this journey and you could totally imagine sharing a kebab with him.
Then, as if the universe senses your feelings, your motorcycle’s horn honks twice by itself and you smile to yourself knowing that you’re probably still riding atop your new pal, his blood now gas, his hooves rubber tires and his exhaust pipe-sharped penis now an exhaust pipe.
You hope that this leg of the journey will last longer than the others because the vibration of the motorcycle is giving your privates a much-needed wake up call but your hopes are dashed when you spot this gas station up ahead:
Part of you wants to drive the into the side of the building just to see what happens but if the movie Groundhog Day has taught you anything it’s that when you’re part of an unexplained event that bends space and time, forget about suicide, you’d best find Andie MacDowell and seduce the fuck out of her. If the soundtrack to the movie Groundhog Day has taught you anything it’s that when you’re having a party and you forget to program a playlist, do not hastily throw one together and lead it off with the Groundhog Day soundtrack.
Anyway, since meeting Gary Oldman was the closest you came to finding Andie MacDowell you try to rid your mind of all things Groundhog Day and decide to play it safe and pull into the station where your next portal awaits.
Stopped at the pump you check your gas level and see that it reads “E”, making you to remember how your dad once tricked you into believing that it stands for “EAT” and that gasoline was originally called “lunch juice”. You grab the nozzle and begin filling the tank, bracing yourself for another cosmic transportation. And what do you know? It worked. You disappear. You’re done with this part. Onto the next. The adventure continues tomorrow. Where will you read it? What is your name? Just kidding, I don’t care. See you!