Did I ever tell you about that time I was held captive by a group of militant feminists? Funny story…
It started out like any other Sunday evening. I was looking through the dumpsters behind the Walmart, searching for broken department store clothes hangers (for obvious reasons), when I started hearing voices. At first, I thought I had sniffed too many fumes from broken hairspray bottles, but when I turned around I saw three women walking in my general direction, chatting with each other in hushed murmurs. There was a petite, fair skinned blonde, a brunette with olive skin and a medium build, and a redhead with a deep tan, the shoulders of an NFL lineman and the height to match. Wow she was big. Anyway, they all had their hair up in tight buns, and they all wore matching black tank tops and camouflage cargo pants. I couldn’t tell you what kind of shoes they were wearing (I am a man, after all).
I thought that they were going to completely ignore me (just like all the girls when I was in high school), but just as they walked passed, all three stopped in unison and turned their heads in my direction. The blonde was the first to speak.
Blonde: What are you doing?
Me: What am I doing? What does it look like? I’m digging through this dumpster to find broken clothes hangers.
Brunette: Why would you do that?
Me: Isn’t it obvious?
Redhead: He’s a liar! He’s one of them!
Me: I’m sorry, one of who?
The redhead closed the 8-foot gap between us in a flash. I didn’t have time to react before her closed fist connected with my left temple and everything suddenly went black.
When I woke up, orange extension cords were holding me in a chair in the middle of what appeared to be (and certainly felt like) a damp basement. The room was lit with a single light bulb in the middle of the ceiling, and the walls looked like a rippled sea of brown clay, with the only break coming directly ahead of me at the black door that ran all the way from the ceiling to the dirt floor.
About 10 seconds after coming to, I stopped caring about the cords digging into my wrists and ankles as my head began to throb. Damn that woman and her unnatural right hook. It wasn’t long before all three of my captors entered the room. Again, the blonde opened the conversation.
Blonde: I’ll ask you again. What were you doing?
Me: Sorry, I don’t like repeating myself. Especially to a bunch of crazy bee-yotches like the three of you.
Brunette: We are not crazy bitches! We are strong, independent women!
Me: I didn’t call you a bitch. I called you a bee-yotch. Now, how about you use your strong, independent hands to untie me?
Redhead: Enough of this! Who sent you?!?!
Me: What the what?
Redhead: Who do you work for?!?!
Me: I really have no idea what you’re talking about.
Redhead: You are going to tell me what you were really doing out there, or I am going to end your already miserable life!
Me: Hey, my life isn’t miserable. I have a sweet blog. I’m Chris Lackie. You have probably heard of me. I can give you an autograph if you untie my hands.
The redhead stood directly in front of me. Her body completely blocked out the light, covering me in her shadow. It was like standing at the base of a mountain just as the sun is about to rise.
Redhead: I must break you.
Me: Thanks, Ivan Drago.
Brunette: That’s not her name. You don’t care what our names are.
Blonde: You don’t care what any woman’s name is, do you? Well guess what? When this is over, you will know who we are.
Me: I already know who you are. You’re Blonde, you’re Brunette and this lovely lady is Redhead. Also known as Mountain Woman.
Brunette: We are the ones who will dispose of our male oppressors and free our sisters from their shackles!
Blonde: We will destroy the male destroyers, and raise women through the glass ceiling of society to be the mothers of the world we are destined to be!
Redhead: And I’m their ride.
Me: How poetic.
Brunette: We are the Female Elite Militant Mother Extremists!
All the Bee-Yotches: We are FEMME!
Me: You’re mothers AND you’re female? I didn’t believe it was possible. You know, groups with redundant names often get taken less seriously, since it makes them seem dumb. Perhaps you should drop the female part, since that’s fairly obvious. And the words “militant” and “extremist” make people nervous. Maybe you guys, er… sorry, I mean strong, beautiful women should just call yourself Elite Mothers. Or better yet, how about just Mothers?
Blonde: Oh, so that’s all we’re good for?! Breeding?!
Brunette: Argh! I hate men!
Redhead: Can I pull him apart now?
The three women paused for a moment and looked at each other, as if reading each others’ minds. I quickly figured out what they were thinking when a dark smile crept across all of their faces. The redhead turned away from the others and focused on me again. She began pummeling me in the face and chest with both of her tightly clenched fists. First the right, then the left, and so on, and so on. Every strike felt like an anvil being dropped on me from the top of a skyscraper. When the Mountain Woman hit me hard enough to knock me on my back, she would pick me up and start all over again. After only a few moments I could feel the blood pouring down my already swollen face. After a few minutes I knew how this was going to end.
I was going to die.
To be continued!
Dun Dun Dunnnnn!!!!!!
Am I going to make it out alive? Probably, given I’m telling you this story right now. Will one of these women end up being my wife? Probably not. My wife is a sweetie-pie. All of these questions and more will be answered next time!
Same Chris Time! Same Chris Channel!