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Wrong Foot Comedy Podcast


All's well that ends.

Jun 19, 2014

My pedometer read 14,241 steps which meant my dogs were barking for a sit-and-stay after my long day of sniffing around Nountown.  I still wasn't sure what I was looking for or how much of it I might find.  

I was still a good 50 yards from the Breezy Inn and maybe my weariness was driving my mind off its path, but a big, blue Buick drove me into the muddy ditch skirting the roadway.  

I could barely see the driver except to spot a kerchief on her head and I'm guessing it was a her, but I'd seen more than one odd sight in my short time in Nountown.  Odd like a troupe of young men dressed as nurses, not male nurses but in white hats and tight white hospital dresses.  A gaggle of Florence Nightingales named Frank.

I also saw mother after mother pushing empty baby carriages.  Maybe they weren't mothers.  Maybe they were baby carriage testers.

And of course I saw everyone look the other way when I crossed their path.  It had been so long since I made eye contact with anyone I was beginning to think I had  a terminal case of conjunctivitis with a twist of halitosis on a ten-foot pole.

This was a flash flood of fear in the streets I hadn't witnessed since Berlin split in half and Saigon went native.  Was it fear that pushed me into the muddy moat or a last ditch effort to eviscerate the snooper by making a lasting effort to ditch me?

Either way, I now needed a laundry service to go with my foot bath.  A spin around the agitator to whiten my whites while I pre-and post soaked myself.