31. Trip over the only obstacle within a 100-foot radius.

You’re in a hurry, goddamit. The Land Before Time XXXIV: Please Just Let Us Die goes on sale at precisely 9:00am this morning, and you sure as hell aren’t going to miss a single second of precious dinosaur antics. You throw on a shirt, a shoe, maybe some pants (maybe not), and fly out the door.

You could take the car, but why bother? It’s a beautiful day, the sun is out, and your allergy medication has finally kicked in. No eye-watering, nose-dripping, wheezing fits for you! A little exercise couldn’t hurt, either. You became dangerously exhausted after eating a twenty-piece Chicken McNugget Value Meal with ranch dressing while watching the Boston Marathon, and you’re fairly sure this will not be winning you a Presidential Fitness Award any time soon.

You powerwalk down the street, so blazingly ignorant of anything around you not affiliated with heartwarming animated pterodactyls that you completely miss the potential hazard quickly approaching. Sure, the sidewalk is at least fifteen feet wide, completely clear of pedestrians, and paved to a degree of smoothness rivaled only by bowling lanes and freshly zambonied skating rinks. All except for a daring, rogue brick that has brazenly thrust itself up onto the surface, not unlike The Little Mermaid and her quest to become Part Of Our World.

Alas, also like The Little Mermaid, this brick has a thing or two to learn about not royally fucking up the lives of everyone it encounters. You continue your jaunt, blissfully unaware, and deviating nary a hair’s width from the path you’re on. You take in the sights and sounds around you – hey, there’s Bill the Barber, nicking the ear of Old Hobo EarNick! There’s a woman breastfeeding in public! There’s a man throwing lettuce at her! There’s an oily, naked —

You’re on the ground. You don’t know how you got there, but a brief investigation into the matter reveals the mischievous brick to your now swollen eye. Mocking you with its obviousness, there it stands – proud, noble, and outrageously visible. A mere glance in the direction of the ground would have saved you this crushing indignity, but so confident you were in the nimbleness of your feet, you didn’t feel the need. A mistake you won’t be making again anytime soon.

So if you want to suck at life, trip over the only obstacle within a 100-foot radius. Were you to wander the Sahara with seemingly nothing around for miles except sand dunes, devastating isolation, and comically-positioned skeletons, you would be the one to inevitably stumble and fall over a single solitary camel turd. It’s a gift, really. Cherish it.


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