I Can't Believe No One Believes My Very Believable Story About Teleporting To Waffle House

No one believed Galileo, either.

I am damned sick and tired of people telling me there’s no such thing as teleportation, and that there must be some other explanation for the time I teleported to the Waffle House. I don’t know what other explanation there could be. I was in one place, and then I was in another place fifty miles away. Just like that.

Yes, I was heavily medicated due to suffering enormous pain from a case of gout. Have you ever had gout, Jim? The joint in my big toe swelled up to roughly the size of one of those honeydew melons. Of course I needed the painkillers. I don’t see what that has to do with anything.

But anyway, I was home when it happened. I was lying on the couch yelling for my wife to bring me my pills quick because I couldn’t get up and I wanted to chop off my entire foot just to make the pain stop. She comes running in and gives me my pills and I’m just laying there waiting for them to kick in. Then they weren’t working so I took some more. A bunch more.

Louise, God bless her, tried to get my mind off it by asking where I’d want to go out to eat when I got better. I didn’t even have to say anything, I just thought the words Waffle House. Next thing I know, I’m in the parking lot at Waffle House and my foot doesn’t hurt.

Yep, teleportation cured my gout. I wonder what else it can cure. Every disease? Some diseases? If my cousin Phil could have teleported when he needed that quadruple bypass, maybe he wouldn’t have needed the surgery.

By the way, his wife said to thank you folks for all the flowers.

Top FEMA Official Can't Stop Teleporting Himself To Waffle House

And no, this isn’t the first time I’ve been teleported against my will. A few weeks ago, I was home thinking I oughtta head out to the lake to do some fishing. Next thing I know, I’m sitting in my little boat with that little Evinrude I’ve got, I’ve got a case of beer that’s half empty, I’m in the middle of the lake, and I’ve got my line in the water.

Another time I was at the Food Lion picking up some toilet paper because that’s the only place that sells Quilted Northern and God forbid Louise should have to dab herself in her nether regions with anything but Quilted Northern. Anyway, I’m in the toilet paper aisle getting mad thinking about how much the store brand stuff doesn’t cost six bucks for a four-pack, and boom! Next thing I know, I’m twenty miles away in the hospital and I have no idea how I got there or what that beeping is.

When people say there’s no such thing as teleportation, I say oh yeah? Well, the other night I drank an entire bottle of bourbon while sitting around my house watching March Madness, and wham! Suddenly I’m in a ditch out by the airport! Explain that!

So yeah, I’m damned sick and tired of people telling me there’s no such thing as teleportation when I teleport all the time. I teleported here to the office just this morning!

Oh sure, Jim, you saw Louise “dropping me off right out front.” Sure, buddy. Mind if I check your coffee cup for marijuana?

It’s the Lord’s work. That’s all I can figure.

Yeah, I know all the Waffle House employees at every Waffle House in the greater Macon area claim they never saw me. I don’t know why they would say that, of course they saw me. How many customers do they see on an average day? Lots, sure. But how many of those customers materialize out of thin air when their atoms are disassembled in one location and reassembled 50 miles away, in the parking lot, next to a jacked-up F-150 with a Trump flag. How would I know exactly where I rematerialized if it never happened? How many jacked-up F-150s with Trump flags flying on ‘em could there be in Waffle House parking lots in Georgia?

I don’t know why the Waffle House and not the Shoney’s, Jim. Maybe the Lord knew I was hankering for some of their hash browns. I don’t question His plan.

[NYT]

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