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Muzak and neon and conditioned air was being piped carefully overhead, as you patiently trundled the shopping trolley up and down the late-night aisles.   But nothing was appropriate this time: no pan pipes, no goatee (naturally), no kids in tow.   No buying caps or corn, or even goat’s cheese.   You didn’t look gruff, you weren’t a nanny, your name on the credit card wasn’t even Billy.  

Disappointing.

You did have a quick glance at the boy in front of you buying Doritos and energy drinks, but your focus was on your to-do list and making sure the girl packed the enviro-bags properly.   You didn’t hoof it nimbly to your car, standing solitary in the semi-dark: oh no.   You’re not a skittish creature.   Loading in the bags, that faint clink of cans and rustle of a plastic packet obviously must have come from your own shopping, and it was only when you took out the car keys and the heels on asphalt began tap-tap-tapping their way around to the driver’s side door that the promised analogy finally presented itself.

There was that plaintive bleat, the futile attempt at escape when you first felt the hand on your ankle, reaching out from the grim darkness under the bridgework of your car.   But once the ‘eee’ was gone… that meant only the scape was left.

Everyone knows where trolls lurk.   This one has done this before.   Don’t feel bad.   You never had much chance anyway.

Doesn’t that just get your goat, though?

 

ELEVENTH SIGN…

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3 Comments

  1. Note to self: Remember to look under the bloody car…..Trolls you can smell but Jonathon….there is no telling where he can pop out of.

  2. *facepalms mightily*

    I could swear the puns in this one are worse than the others. Lordy.

    • Worthy at least of a mighty facepalm and a short devotional…


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