The Drunk

It was two in the morning and the drunk was rudely shoved through the door. Turning to protest, he discovered the door was locked. Banging on it with his fists did absolutely nothing. The bartender wasn’t going to let him in. His only option was to go home and sleep it off. To add insult to injury, the bartender had confiscated his keys.

Now he faced a long walk home. Pulling his coat up around his ears, he staggered off, the odor of beer following him in the night air. In the fog of his inebriated mind, he suddenly thought about a shortcut. It was a route he had used before. He had to go through the alley behind the Pizza Hut. Staying in the shadows, he stumbled that way. He definitely didn’t want the police to see him. He had spent more than one night in the drunk tank and didn’t want to do it again.

Once he was past Pizza Hut, his only obstacle was the cemetery. Weaving his way through the headstones, he had no idea that what was going to happen would sober him up quickly.

A fresh grave had been dug and he toppled into it. It was a double-wide grave site. It was for a man of gigantic proportions. He was seven feet two inches tall and weighed over six hundred pounds. He made his living as a professional wrestler. He would be buried in a piano packing crate.

The drunk panicked. Being small stature, he couldn’t get out. He screamed at the top of his lungs and tried to claw his way over the rim. It was no use. Giving up, he sat down in a corner and went to sleep.

Suddenly he was abruptly awakened. Some other poor soul had fallen in at the other end of the grave. Screaming and crying, they tried to get out and couldn’t.

Standing up, the drunk came up behind him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and said, “You can’t get out!”

With a scream the man jumped and was gone, racing away, shrieks of terror coming from his mouth. The drunk shrugged his shoulders and laid back down. He decided then and there to find another way home. No more cemetery shortcuts after drinking too much booze!

May 13, 2021