So, this professor had a sub.
It was still in a box, but it was a sub. After all, being in a box can’t change what a thing is. If it could, why, this professor might be a box.
Now, as I was standing in the driveway, contemplating undoing the box and seeing the sub–better to undo boxes than rip them up–Daddy Salami approached, with a wicked smile on his lips.
For those of you who don’t know Salami, he is a portly chap with red hair and a red beard. And green eyes.
“What ya got there, cur?” he said, banging on the box.
There was a resounding clang.
“This,” I said proudly, “is my new sub, don’t you know.”
“A sub?” Salami’s eyes squinted, or the lids moved a bit closer. “You’re a bigger dummy than I thought, heha.”
And I felt I should tell the whole truth. Why? I’m not sure. I’m a bit dull, I suppose.
“I actually sold my news company to buy it.”
He just stared at me. Then laughed.
“Hehaha! Ya dummy. But, hey, I’ll help you out. How much for yer sub? I think Ruber, me son, would benefit from learning how to drive a sub.”
Salami’s face fell. “Ya cur! I want it for free.”
“The only thing you’re entitled to here is a handshake. Good day, beautiful.”
Now, that was a mistake. Salami left. And I was still having thinks about how to go about opening the sub, when he returned. In a garbage truck. Riding straight for me.
I tried to wave him off. Ask him to stop. Even draw my katana and wave it about madly.
But he still came.
I dove to the side at the last minute.
The sub sorta crunched. Daddy Salami drove off.
Well, this was just great.
Moral: When you get something, unpack it immediately and hide it.