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The morning sunlight was dazzling on the new-fallen snow. Muffled sounds of frolicking children wafted through the air. Fred carefully leaned the snow shovel beside the front door, pausing to admire the perfectly symmetrical pathway he had cleared from his doorstep to the street. As he bounded down the
steps toward his car he cursed under his breath, "Gosh darn it! I forgot my scraper brush!"
"Not to worry, Fred" replied his conscience. "You've got a new 'Canadain Tire Scraper Brush In A Holster' in its magnetic carrying case concealed under your right rear fender."
Now, if only Fred could remember which snow-covered lump was his car...
scraperbrush
The original idea by rossgk. [Canuck, Mar 12 2006]
[link]
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Don't know why, but after the reference to the gunrack in the linked idea I expected that the holstered scraperbrush would be belted to your waist and tied to your thigh to facilitate a fast draw. I expected you to single-handedly bring this look back to the forefront of Canadian winter fashions for men.(If you had called it a "scabbard" I might have had expectations more in line with this idea.) |
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He left the house that morning, beating a path through the waist high snow to his car. Halfway there his wife stuck her head out door to wish him a good day.
"You didn't forget your snow brush, did you?" she called out with concern. |
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"No, I've got right here in my Scraper-In-A-Scabbard. Don't worry dear, I'll be fine." |
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She nodded with satisfaction and slammed the door shut, causing the snow to fall off the roof with a sickening thunk, blocking the path to the house once more. Well, no matter. He was almost to the car anyways and he still had his trusty Scraper-In-A-Scabbard. |
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Reaching back over his shoulder he went to grab his Scraper-In-A-Scabbard only to clutch his fist around cold, dry air instead of the comforting grip of his ergonomically rubber coated handled Scraper-In-A-Scabbard. Damn kids had been playing Conan with it again! Spinning around frantically back to the now blocked house, he could feel the snow walls closing in on him. |
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Raising his empty, clenched fists to the boiling, roiling, darkened sky he screamed, "Why God? WHY?!"
He fell to his knees then, the lone tear rolling down his face into the snow. There his tear remains to this day, frozen into the very snow that cursed him. Forever. |
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Oh how he wished he had gone with the 'Canadian Tire Scraper Brush In A Holster' instead of this stupid 'Scraper-In-A-Scabbard'. |
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