You really want to find
that treasure, and you don’t know of any other way to get to the Epcot
center, so it looks like you’ll have to play a game of "I Spy Inside
You spend a few moments mentally preparing yourself for what is sure to
be a tremendous, and lifelong trauma. Finally, after spending about five
minutes in your happy place, you tell Dix that you’re ready to take a
look in his trousers.
"Terrific," he exclaims. "Just give me a moment to whip ‘em out."
You close your eyes and grit your teeth, as you hear a zipper being
unzipped. In the corner of your mind, you can barely make out the words,
"here they are…"
Well, no time like the present, you think to yourself. You open your
eyes, expecting to see the worst.
"What do you think? Can you fix ‘em?"
Dix is holding a pair of pants before you with the zipper down and a
good-sized tear in the backside. "Never really been much of a seamstress
myself. If you can patch these up, I’ll be more than willing to give you
a lift to the Epcot center. Why, I’d even be willing to make you an
Something about the way he said that last part makes you feel
uncomfortable. Especially since you’re holding onto his pants.
Regardless, you tell him that you can fix his pants, no problem.
Although your last attempt at sewing ended with you choking on a bobbin
and putting a needle through your thumb, you’re almost positive that
this time will be different.
You get started right
away. Fortunately for you, you kept that thumb-piercing death needle
with you ever since that fateful day, and there’s plenty of loose string
coming off of your own crummy clothes. You grab some thread and start
trying to thread the needle (of doom). Trying to get the thread through
the eye of the needle is hard enough as it is, but it’s even harder now
that you’re careening down the highway at breakneck speeds.
It is then that you realize that Dix is still holding the pants, instead
of watching the road. Or holding the steering wheel, for that matter.
You casually mention to him that he should get back to driving, and he
does so, just in time to swerve into the next lane over to avoid a
fast-approaching minivan. Once he composes himself, Dix asks you if you
want to get something to eat. You barely hear over the grinding of your
own teeth as you prepare your twenty-third attempt to thread the damned
needle, but you do manage a nod. This sewing business really takes it
out of you.
"Alright, how about McDonald’s? There’s an exit coming up a few miles
down… THERE!? Oh crap! Hold on!"
Dix grabs the wheel and turns with all his might in the hopes of making
it to the last McDonald’s for at least two miles. You don’t hear his
warning because you are too busy celebrating the fact that you have
finally threaded the needle that had wronged you so in the past. You are
thrown into Dix as he makes the turn, and as soon as he finishes it, he
roughly shoves you back, causing you to brace your arm on the window and
inadvertently drive the threaded needle through your ear and into your
brain. "Damn you needle," you think to yourself. "You wounded me back
then, and now you’ve finished the job!" In your last moments, you hear
Dix talking to himself:
"Damnit, now I’ll have to find another drifter to fix my trousers."
YOU'RE DEAD! SEW WHAT? START OVER!