He's GONE! Gone, baby, gone! I have no idea what happened to Slim Jim.
Let the record show that a search was mounted forthwith, the moment he was discovered missing. How could Slim Jim possibly disappear into thin air? Or even thick, humid air? HOW? He was just there a minute ago! I looked away, and he was gone.
I knew right where I'd left him. I backtracked. Searched all over T-Hoe. Searched the garage. Searched the sidewalk and porch. Then I returned to the Mansion and searched the kitchen. Just in case Slim Jim had hitchhiked a ride inside. I searched the floor. The counter. My purse. The grocery bags. Slim Jim was not to be found.
How is that even possible?
Every day, right before I start up T-Hoe to leave town after getting my 44 oz Diet Coke, I take my two pills with a swig of water (surely you don't think I'd start imbibing my magical elixir before I get home) and rip open a Slim Jim.
That's a regular fork for comparison. Not my special short fork that some little gal asked for specifically, being too good for the plasticware that everybody else was using at a special surprise party BBQ last fall, and threw into the trash can!
They're small, these Slim Jims. Not like the ones we'd buy at the penny candy store during childhood, with our allowance of 50 cents every two weeks. No siree, Bob! Now THOSE were some robust, hearty Slim Jims. I remember it like it was yesterday. The first bite, the SNAP of the casing, the grease shooting into my mouth. Mmm...you can't beat a good Slim Jim. This new mini version is okay. It serves the purpose of getting some protein to go along with that medicine. Along with a hefty dose of fat and cholesterol and food additives, I'm sure.
Anyhoo...none of that brings Slim Jim back. I still have no idea what happened to him. I'd taken my meds, started up T-Hoe, and pulled out of the Gas Station Chicken Store parking lot. I made a right at the light, and went through the next two green. I was getting ready to reach down to take a bite of Slim Jim as I crested the hill heading out of town. I checked the mirror, and saw a truck bearing down on me.
I don't fiddle around eating Slim Jim if traffic is a bigger priority. I figured I'd wait until I turned off, or that truck did. He was getting pretty close, and I wanted both hands on the wheel. I couldn't be lollygagging or sweaving with another vehicle behind me. I'm the courteous sort, and don't want to impede the flow of traffic. Or give any redneck in a truck a reason to have road rage.
As Even Steven would have it, that truck made the same turn I did, onto our county road. In fact, it followed me all the way to the mailboxes, and went on around me as I signaled to pull over by EmBee.
Of course, after getting the mail, I forgot about Slim Jim. Didn't remember him until I was inside, getting ready to add some Great Value Sugar Free Cherry Limeade powder to my 44 oz Diet Coke. Since I'd already ripped open his plastic sleeve, I figured I needed to get Slim Jim out of T-Hoe. Okay. I wanted to devour him. There was a box of his brethren on the kitchen counter, but I thought it would be a shame to waste the open one.
I kid you not. I searched ALL OVER T-Hoe. Starting with the bed of Puffs With Lotion that lay on the lower section of the console. That's where I put Slim Jim. Not there. I thought he might have slid off, what with the turning of sharp curves. But no. He wasn't under either of the front seats. I reached my arm all the way down in there, between the console and the seat, and under the seats. Nothing.
I guess Slim Jim won't stink up T-Hoe. I think he's pretty well preserved within a centimeter of his life. AND...a couple years ago, The Pony and I found a petrified McDonald's cheeseburger under one of the back seats. It didn't stink, and it wasn't moldy. So maybe one of these days, we'll find Slim Jim.
Don't turn me in if you see him on a milk carton.