Member-only story
Sunset Sleepwalker
mischief afoot at Great Wolf Lodge
Twilight fast approaching, the crazed hillbilly cast his bloodshot gaze upon the field of unwashed and un-watched SUVs and mid-sized family sedans. His lone quest, to sow chaos and frustration amongst the Starbucks-swilling suburbanites busy tucking their children into bed at Great Wolf Lodge.
He would coat the handles of most of their passenger-side doors with petroleum jelly, or perhaps purloin their precious Jack In The Box antenna balls. To those windows adorned with stick-figure families, he would add ravenous cartoon gremlins and narwhals, scribbled in pink Crayola. He imagined returning at dawn with binoculars to witness with bliss (and from a safe distance) the pandemonium.
Woe to those whose license plates contained his weekly Pick-3 lottery digits. For “them that dare sport and corrupt the numbers” though, he had nothing but disdain. These unwitting automobile owners would return to find three tires deflated and a cryptic note explaining, “I squeezed out three but let one be, so don’t ye dare come mess with me!”
A Mason jar full of iced butterscotch schnapps and Ambien was not, as his neighbor in the double-wide trailer next door suggested, an “awesome nightcap” so much as a prescription for misadventure.
