I was just walking peacefully, minding my own business, when suddenly someone yelled angrily behind my back: “Freeze!”
Freeze. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Was there a wizard behind me, about to cast a freeze spell upon me? I mentally prepared for a counter-spell, which I had secretly practiced while my parents weren’t looking.
Rapidly I flung myself around, chanting an ancient but very powerful Austrian curse: “Wos ma sogt is ma söba, da Oasch wird imma göba, da Oasch wird immer weißer, bist a Hosenscheißer!” That battle was won for sure. Puzzlement struck me, when instead of the anticipated wizard I spotted a police officer, shooting my arm off with some sort of arm removal device. I stood there in astonishment, inspecting the newly gained wound. It was a clean cut and would most likely grow back like the last time. Also, wounds are considered sexy on a man, which is good, I think!
Ignoring the cop, who was noticably annoyed by now, I decided to try the infamous Lisbon mushroom sandwich. Tripping balls, I must have somehow sprained my soul or something, I don’t know. Something feels weird.