I’ve been abducted! There I was, waiting for the bus, when WHAM! Next thing I know, I’m in the trunk of a moving car, my wrists and ankles are tied with jumper cables, and I’ve got a lump on the back of my head. OWWW! My abductor didn’t take my grocery list or lucky sudoku pen, though, so I can at least make a record of my harrowing ordeal.
Woken up this morning by my abductor opening the trunk and throwing in a warm Tab (gross) and a packet of peanuts (stale).
I’ve discovered that if I’m quiet, I can just make out the radio, so I’ll be able to listen for news of my abduction. There hasn’t been anything about me yet, though, which is just as well since I need time to work on my angle. The way I see it, I’ve got three options: (1) all-American girl; (2) girl next door; and (3) popular party girl. I’m not sure about “all-American girl” (too much pressure to be peppy), and I definitely don’t like “popular party girl” (which is just code for “slut”), so I guess that leaves “girl next door.” I think I can pull that off as long as no one finds out I was downtown to return a defective vibrator to the Love Mart. Of course, the other women in my Jane Austen book club will want to slap the piss out of me for letting anyone characterize me as a “girl” at my age, but I was getting sick of flans anyway.
Oh, and I’ve decided to call my abductor Tom. He reminds me of that Tom guy at work who tells people we hooked up in the supply closet. What an asshole.
Tab and peanuts for breakfast again.
Spent most of the day considering casting. Which of today’s top-tier starlets should play me in the big budget screen adaptation of my harrowing ordeal? For my money, it has to be Anne Hathaway. She’s smart, she’s sexy, and she has a touch of that old school class, even if she gave away the store in that gay cowboy movie. Fingers crossed!
Still nothing on the radio about my disappearance.
Starting to get a bad feeling about this abduction. I mean, I’m spending all my time cooped up in a trunk, and for all I know Tom is just driving in circles. What’re they gonna call a movie about that? Trunk of Terror? I’d better work on titles so I have something to run with when the time comes.
Woke up this morning to find the trunk wide open and Tom sound asleep up against a tree. Got myself a Tab and some peanuts from the cooler and locked myself back in the trunk. At least one of us is taking this abduction seriously.
Could I be more pissed off? I finally make the news, but then they cut away to some stupid story about a fire at a clown college. WTF? Nobody even LIKES clowns! What a rip.
Just had a close call. Tom had let me out to help change a flat tire when a motorcycle cop came out of nowhere, took one look at me and the jumper cables, and started asking questions. Tom just stood there like an idiot, mumbling something about tinfoil underwear, while the cop reached for his radio. Fortunately, he was watching Tom so closely that he didn’t notice me sneaking up behind him with the tire iron. It took one whack to put him down and two more to keep him down. I felt a little guilty about it afterwards, but it had to be done. No way am I being rescued one lousy week into my harrowing ordeal. I mean, I’d be lucky to score a made-for-cable movie after only seven days. Goodbye Anne Hathaway, hello Anne Heche.
More news about me on the radio. Apparently, my so-called loved ones could scrape together only $3,500 for information leading to my safe return, which oddly enough is EXACTLY how much I have in my checking account. That better be a coincidence.
Also, who do they have on to plead for my safe return? Mom? Dad? Little sis? No, it’s Tom from work, blubbering that all he wants is to feel me safe and sound in his arms again. GET OVER IT, TOM! One drunken Christmas party grope-out does not make us Tristan and Isolde.
But on the bright side, they also say that MY Tom is now suspected in the death of a motorcycle cop, so they’re ramping up the search. Yay! That alone ought to be enough to bump my story up from Entertainment Tonight to Larry King Live.
What a day. I’d barely finished my Tab and peanuts when we ran out of gas. Tom let me out to push, but he wouldn’t untie me (not even my ankles), so it took FOREVER to reach a gas station. Still, I bet Anne Hathaway would look terrific struggling to push a car along a deserted highway, and that’s what counts.
Not much going on today. We’re parked somewhere and I hear a muffled sound coming from nearby. What is that, digging?
I’ve thought of a title for my movie: Driven to Despair. It works the car angle while avoiding any reference to the trunk. Cha-ching!
Hey, that sound has finally stopped. I wonder if that’s good or bad. Guess I’ll know soon enough.