My feet tangle.
Glancing down, I see Batman’s bat-a-rang on a line, zipping around my ankles, pulling tight. With no ability to place one foot ahead of the other, I topple, a full-body slam to the floor. Before I know it, a blur of red and blue rolls me over, so quickly, so many times, I nearly puke.
As Superman rotates, Spiderman flings his webbing, immobilizing me neck to foot. I put up a fight to free myself from the wet, sticky goo, but can’t move more than my right hand, which is in my pocket. Confused, I cry out, “Why? What have I done to you?”
The voice is unmistakable as Batman growls, “You didn’t share.”
“What?” I ask.
“You failed to share the Pez candies you brought home yesterday,” he explains.
With a furrowed-brow, I question, “How in the hell…”
“You can’t fool Yogi or Boo-Boo’s noses,” Aquaman interrupts.
“They knew the instant you opened your front door,” Santa continues.
“And to think I fought my best friend defending you,” I call out, adding “You fat bastard, Kris!”
Toy Story Woody mosies over as Luke Skywalker demands, “So, where did you hide them, Luke Two?”
“Huh?” I respond, “Hide what?! What the eff are you talking about?!
“The Pez candies, you S-O-B!” Fozzie Bear snarls, spraying slobber in my face.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I pled.
“Do your thing, Wonder Woman!” Tweetie Bird instructs.
In an instant I feel the Lasso of Hestia drop over my forehead. The pressure so intense I can’t resist answering truthfully as Batman (Ben Affleck, not Christian Bale) steps forward, gargling, “Where’s the Pez candies?”
The harder I try not answering, the greater the Lasso tightens at my temples, until I blurt out, “Drawer on left, closest to dishwasher!!!” As the pain subsides, I hear the clacking of my collection of Pez dispensers in the kitchen. A drawer opens, a plastic bag rustles, a drawer closes. The disorganized clacking starts up, moving down the hallway.
“Wait!” I scream, “What about me? You can’t jus’ leave me like this?”
“Oh, yes we can,” replies Return of the Jedi’s Princess Leia Organa, “Besides we want to hear how you explain this to your wife.” She disappears with the other dispensers into the back room and the leather satchel they live in.
My right hand is touching my lock-blade knife. Slipping it from my pocket, I flick it open, stabbing into the now-dry and ever hardening web. I must hurry – my wife’s due home in less than half-an-hour.