Victim of a Drive By


So Sunday morning I'm minding my own business in the Airplane Factory installing wires in the Time Machine when I get a cryptic text that I don't quite understand. An hour later my wife tells me to check the porch. On my door stoop is an array of items, but like a mouse approaching a trap, all I see is the bait: a handful of die-cast and plastic airplanes. Only after I'm in the middle of the quagmire do I realize it was a ruse a moment before two different charges went off: solid fuel on one side, liquid fuel on the other side! I crawled back into the house, still clutching a toy airplane with a broken propeller, I slump into a chair to lick my wounds.

What kind of sick-o does a drive by on a guy on Sunday morning? Jfields does, that's who! I guess mail bombs were getting too boring for him.

Thanks John, your generosity was over the top!
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