Box-Traveling Moron Somehow News

hipping clerk Charles McKinley mailed himself from New York to Dallas in a shipping crate last week, as was reported by every major news outlet on Tuesday in the face of an apparent total lack of actual news.

Authorities believe McKinley had help from at least one co-worker at the New York warehouse where he is employed, since it is extremely difficult to nail yourself into a shipping crate from the inside. The homesick McKinley, too broke to afford an airline ticket, came up with the idea after a friend complimented him on his ability to avoid buying a car by stowing away in other drivers’ trunks in order to get around town. McKinley also remembered a similar idea working in a humorous MC 900 Ft. Jesus video he’d seen years before.

McKinley took neither food nor water along with him for the 15-hour journey, only a broken cell-phone and a Game Boy Advance for which he soon lamented not buying a backlight.

“I brought my cell phone, even though that piece of shit’s been broken for two weeks, just in case we got up in space and all of a sudden I had service again,� explained McKinley. “That’dve been sweet, because I could call up Charles and be like ‘Yo whatup dog, I’m calling you from a box in space and shit!’ There’s no way Charles would believe that, man, he’d think I was drunk or something. But he’dve been wrong. I wish I was drunk, that probably would’ve made the fifteen hours in the dark with knees all crammed up in my face go faster now that I think about it. But yeah, I brought my cell phone because I think it’s the battery that’s all jacked from the time I dropped it in that toilet at the bar, and I figure it might not have enough juice to pull down the phone calls from the satellites all the way to the ground, you know? But maybe it’ll work on the plane ‘cuz we’re closer to the satellites and all that. But no dice, piece of shit was still busted.�

Embarrassed federal officials are still trying to determine how McKinley made it through airport security, which presumably has some kind of dogs or something that check to make sure crates being shipped don’t smell like sweaty morons. Officials refused to speculate what security measures might be in place to prevent this kind of occurrence, though they neither confirmed nor denied that a funny way to test would be to drop all packages from a height of several feet to see if any of them screamed.

Upon arriving at his parents’ suburban Dallas home, McKinley busted out of the crate with a crowbar, scaring the holy shit out of a deliveryman who thought he was dropping off a huge shipment of Triscuits.

“I thought it was funny that the thing smelled like a big box of snack crackers and B.O., but I still didn’t expect some weirdo to bust out like a jackass-in the-box,� explained deliveryman Billy Ray Thomas. “And yeah, the rumors are true, I may have screamed kind of like a girl when he popped out. And then I called the cops on my cell phone because, hey man, fuck you!�

When the police arrived they arrested McKinley on an unrelated charge of passing bad checks and sneaking onto a train in a large duffel bag. Federal officials are also considering charges of “stowing away on a plane,� the violation of a law created in the 1940’s to give police characters more to do in Warner Bros. cartoons.

Asked how much he saved by traveling in the cargo hold, McKinley made it clear that his employer had unwittingly footed the bill for his low-budget odyssey. “Oh shit man, I couldn’t afford to mail a box that heavy. You have any idea what that must cost? Damn. I just traveled cross-country in a crate, Jack, do I look like I’m made of money?�

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"There was a time I remember when my old boss, a kind of megalomaniacal fruitcake with a bad head for business, approached me and asked me to go on a quest with him that could result in both of our deaths. This memory is pretty easy to conjure since it was about last week.

'Sampson,' the boss said, 'there is but one man on this staff I can trust to go along with me and, if necessary, make that ultimate sacrifice. And that man is you.'

I confess, some part of ol' Sampson L. Hartwig thought him out of his whack mind, as my hip-hop friends might suggest. But the more I dwelt on it, the more I took it as both a compliment and as an accurate assessment. The boss may be missing a few nuts and bolts, but as my dad used to say, even a broken clock is right twice a day, unless it's a digital.

What it comes down to for me, folks, is that Sampson L. Hartwig is an older fella in addition to being completely reliable. I've lived a long, happy life, and rightfully maybe it should be even longer, but it's a sad thought for a young person to go before they've had a chance to experience as much of the world as I have.

When I started writing down these sometimes-rambling musings of mine, I wasn't sure what the point of it all was. I later realized it was some attempt at immortality, I guess. Making my words stand up somewhere separate from me like carved in a stone statue. Or making them the most immortal of all things—stories. Passed down from one to the next over a nice cold drink in a cozy setting. That's the only way to live once you're in the ground, folks.

So the way I see it, yeah, let's go on this crazy adventure. The worst that can happen is they put me in the ground. There's still some part of me wandering around over those drinks in cozy settings, and in places like this column. And if it all works out for the better, maybe you'll hear from me again—and boy, will I have a humdinger of a story to tell you then.

In the meantime, I'm taking a loaded shotgun with me, and a taser. No one said I can't stack the deck a little in my favor. If my brother Goose comes nosin' around asking for me, tell him I went on a suicidal adventure—he'll be positively emerald with jealousy."

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"Music soothes the heart of the Savage Beast, except Savage Garden. Boy, that pisses them off but good."
Remember when CDs first came out? They were in those real thin tall cases, like records that had gone on the Slim Fast diet. I told that joke to Tommy Lasorda once and he told me himself he thought it was funny, so you all are kinda required to laugh. Unless you want to disagree with the official Slim Fast spokesman.
For real, those CD cases used to piss me off. I would open the box and expect a real long metal thing you could put in a CD player. Instead there would just be a smaller case with a silver disc inside. That package was so long I always felt completely ripped off that there was only one CD in there. I suppose they didn't want to put two or more CD in there because they would have had to match everything up with another CD and charge people more. You're less likely to buy the new Paul Simon CD if it's packaged with Lemmy from Motorhead's solo album or something. But it didn't help me feel like I was getting taken on the whole deal. I paid for the whole length of the box and those guys didn't bother to use it.
All I can figure is someone at the CD manufacturing company got the total grease job from a guy representing cardboard box manufacturers. He's all like, "Oh, yeah, they may have their own little plastic cases, but what happens if someone scratches those while they're getting put up on the shelf at Sam Goody? No sale, kemosabe. You know what's great at stopping plastic case scuffing? A foot-long flat cardboard box. Yeah, we happen to manufacture those, if you want any."

The really nice thing about those cases is you could store socks individually if you wanted. It beats having them wrapped up in a ball one inside the other, and makes you feel all fancy having one of your socks in box for Pink Floyd's The Wall. Of course, then you can't find any other concept album that fits well enough to store the other sock in, so it's kind of a double-bladed bong, or however the saying goes. I suppose Quadrophenia wouldn't be too far off. Watch me get all these nasty letters from uppity rock critics now.

You know what really sucks about CDs? They shaped them like frisbees and then make them where they scratch if you throw them like frisbees. And when they scratch you can't play them anymore. Great idea, hot shot. My copy of Abbey Road is ruined because you thought it was cool to make them circular. A square disc like a computer would have worked just as well. Nobody had the urge to lob an 8-track to see how far it would go. As far as I'm concerned, I blame you for my ruined copy of Tapestry and you should reimburse me. At least they could have made the CD players have gigantic mouths where you could throw the CD. Like just sit on your couch and when one CD is over it spits it out. You throw another one from across the room and it lands in there and starts playing. You're like a hero and shit, and it's totally sweet.
Anyway, I'm planning on buying a CD player. So it would be nice for all this stuff to get fixed before I pick up one.

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