Bob had the blues so bad he figured if he was able to look in the mirror he'd look like Grover, Harry, or Cookie -- the fuzzy and blue monsters from Sesame Street, which he was currently watching because the remote had stopped working and he couldn't get out of bed to change the channel. He knew the batteries in the remote were okay; he'd just put them in last week or maybe it had been the week before. With the day he had had yesterday, it was kind of hard to remember things. He was beginning to feel a mite bit fuzzy himself as he sang the alphabet with Big Bird and Snuffy. How the hell could he resist singing with Muppets -- especially when he was laid up with bandages covering most of his body -- including the part that planted his seed? Not being able to have the chance to make babies for several weeks was going to be his end; he just knew it was. If only he had not gotten out of bed yesterday morning!

He knew the minute he woke up without a boner, and his wife had already gotten out of bed at some ungodly hour for reasons known only to her, that things were not quite right. He felt a bit eerie about the whole thing, but decided he was being silly. He had taken the day off from work to catch up on his writing, not hide under the covers because he felt funny.

He somehow got tangled up in the covers, forgot which side of the bed he was on, and rolled out onto the floor, where he squashed the cat, and banged his head on his bowling ball, which had somehow managed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Then, the toilet took on a mind of its own and ran over. As cascading water flowed into the floor he dropped the blow dryer, shooting sparks all over creation, causing a small fire on a roll of toilet paper that had somehow managed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The bathroom cleaned-up from the disaster, Bob finally got his clothes on with only a small cut on his finger from the zipper of his jeans. It was a bit early, but he needed a beer.

He reached the kitchen without incident; however, when he opened the fridge, all of the beer cans on the bottom shelf decided they wanted freedom when he pulled out just one. As one of them aimed for the top of his still bare foot, and the others rolled across the floor, he bumped his head on the freezer door, which had somehow managed to open in the wrong place at the wrong time. He saw several constellations and added a few choice words to go along with his visions.

The mess cleaned up in the kitchen, he held his beer tightly in one hand and went to the living room and sat down in his chair. Picking up the remote, he clicked on the TV. As the picture turned purple, the remote fell apart and the VCR began blinking messages in code, and shot a tape across the room where it knocked over a bowl of left-over chili that had somehow managed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.