Way back in the day, I attended a Festival de la Renaissance. At this festival, I was challenged by the most deadly of ladders, the Jacob’s Ladder.
I took the challenge from the barking idiot in the puffy pants. I approached the ladder with due caution. This was no ordinary ladder. It carried the spirit of a witch that was burned at the stake. Or so I was lead to believe.
As I began my ascent up the ladder, I anticipated it’s fiery temper and prepared for the inevitable 180 degree flip. As the ladder bucked, I held steadfast to the rungs. Victory was mine! Or so I thought.
Puffy pants Mcgee had other plans for me, so it seemed. “Nope. The ladder flipped over. You’re out!” the fool screamed in delight.
“I’m still holding on!” I claimed.
“Just get off, dude” said the fool.
I got off alright, but I can’t help imagining what my life would have been like had I made it to the top of that shifty ladder.
It turns out that my garage would have been on the left side of my house instead of the right. And cigarettes would have gone up ten cents more than they already have. That’s really about it.
Years later, I tried to implement the Jacob’s Ladder into the painter’s union. They didn’t see the practicality of a Wican ladder.