Fingernail Icicles
The icicles stood out from my fingernails like rugged fingernail protectors, ready to smash a window and steal gloves if I needed them on a cold winter’s day. Or to lay the whammy bar down on some slow driver in front of me who was going to make me late for work. Such vehicular aggression is illegal when done by humans, but I don’t think there’s any law against fingernail icicles doing that.
So thank you, fingernail icicles, for taking care of me. You ended the feud with the Joneses through an innovative use of bronzing lotion and a stuffed python. You sealed up that portal to hell that we found under my living room couch.
And you’re cool and refreshing in the summer, when I’m parched and dehydrated and just want some ice water. You’re not ice water, but you’re close enough.
I love my fingernail icicles. What could be better? I’m trying to figure out a way to package them up and become rich off of their awesomeness, but I haven’t completely figured out the logistics of that yet. One of these days I will, and then I’ll quit my job and be even happier than Parcheesi Bob. I’ll be so freakishly happy that other peoples’ fingernails will shrivel up in fear, crouching in the corners of their fingers like some crumpled and used tissue.
My fingernails will be gods among fingernails.
Entire operas will be written about my fingernails and their icicles. I will be mentioned only in passing, but that’s ok. I’m not in it for the fame, I’m in it for the cash.
Sounds good, let’s get cracking!