Carl the Screwup Chapter One

	The rain, spattering noisily on the thin, tin roof, is driving me crazy.
	"Get me 'nother beer," I ask the bartender.
	"Oy Carl," he replies, "When do you plan on paying off your tab?"
	"I 'unno... May'e in... in jush a few dahs..." I fumble with my words, which is rare; I never have problems with such trifling things.
	"You'd better bring me a' least ten percent by 'morrow; that's a hunderd an' five dollars, mind you. I dun' like 'stendin' tabs fur mor 'n a month, you know."
	"Alright, 'right. I'll get ye yer money. Just get me a stinkin' beer, Co'ey." Corey passes me the beer, a fine stout, and I consume it in a single gulp. I'm the best person at holding alchohol that I know. I'm the little spectacle around these parts, and everyone trusts me to get them home safely, even when I'm hammered. "When'l 'dis rain end?" I wonder out loud.
	"I dunno, Carl," says Steve, my best bud. "The we'her 'port said that it'll like'y be gone in 'bout-" Steve hiccups wuite loudly. After a second to gather his train of thought, he continues. "'bout 10 min's, Carl."
	"A'ight, I' only in this dum' 'cause I'm waitin' for dis rain to leddup." I eagerly anticipate the moment for the nerve grinding pitter patter of the rain to let up.
	The timing could not have been any more perfect. The second the last drop of my stout disappeared, the rain stopped. "A'ight Ste'e, Corey, I' be seein' y'all later. I' off to me home."
	"Try to drive safelike," Corey replies. I stand up and stagger towards the door. As I leave, I see a shady character making his way to the entrance. I decide to ask him some subtle questions.
	"Hey dickweed, what'chu plannin' to do 'ere in dis estab'ismen'? Huh?" He looks at me confused. I guess I was a little too subtle. "'Ey cocksucker! I said the hell you doin' here!?" I think that got his attention.
	"I'm here to enjoy a drink you stupid thug," he said. I don't really like his attitude at all. i think I'm going to wait in my car and keep an eye on him. I stare at him from the driver seat of my car as he enters the bar and make sure he can't see me. He sometimes looks in my general direction with a bemused face, but he definately can't see me. I'm starting to get really mad now. This guy is acting all suspicious, and he looks like he might have a gun on him, so I try to intimidate him by starting up my car and revving my engine. He looks at my car, which to him must look like it turned on with nobody in the drivers seat, and after a few seconds he reaches into his pocket. He's taking an awfully long time with his hand in his jacket, so he must be pulling out a gun!
	"Oh no ye' don't!" I shout to nobody in particular. I open my door to try and get out, but I accidentally pressed the gas pedal in my suave movements. My large truck plows straight in to the bar. Other than the suspicious guy and the wall, everything was unhurt.
	"I suppose that worked!" I say to those present. Corey and the patrons become animated with excitement. I totally saved their lives!
	"What the hell, Carl?! What are you doing!?" Corey eventually screams.
	"I 'as gonna keep 'dis guy from killin' ya!"
	"He was a paying customer! You just killed that guy! He has a family, man! You... You! Get out! OUT! Pay your damn tab and never return!"
	"Bu', bu', bu!"
	"Out. OUT!"
	With great confusion, I shift into reverse and back out of the bar with ease. I only destroy two more booths on my way out. I slowly drive towards my house, thinking about what it was that I did which made Corey so mad. I saved his life! That ungrateful wretch owes me big time!
	The sound of sirens breaks me out of my confused stupor. The fuzz is right behind me! I just maintain my cool speed of 110 miles per hour and wait for them to pass. After about a minute or two of this, I heard a megaphone reading off a license plate number.
	"Will the driver of the barf green Ford with the license plate E-R-C-T-I-O-N pull over!?" I think about how funny that license plate is and I completely forget about everything and I accidentally veer off the road a little. The gravel stops me within a matter of seconds and a few patrol cars surround mine.
	"Get out of the truck," one of them yells at me. I'm in a daze and I feel like sleeping. Yes, that's the best thing for me. I'll just sleep, because this is all just a dream anyways.
	I wake up when my body hits a cold, hard, cement floor.
	"Dudes, 'at 'ou doin' man?" I protest, "That 'eally hurts!"
	"You're just a loser. You don't need to know anything," says a mysterious sillouette as he slides a series of bars towards the wall.
	"Wait, is 'dis de slammer? Whadd'm I doin' 'ere?!"
	"Haha! Loser."
	That rude man really rubs me the wrong way. I haven't done anything wrong! I replay the last events that I can remember in my head, but it is for naught, as I cannot remember a single thing. I slowly come to the realization that my worst nightmare has manifested itself: to be wrongly imprisoned for something stupid that I didn't do.
	After I finally come to terms with my situation, I begin to take in all of my surroundings. I see a barred glass window on one side of my cell, a short cot, a toilet, and a wall made of bars. To be honest, the cement floor looks more comfortable than that cot. At this point, I figure that there's nothing to do other than sleep, so that's what I do. I just have to say goodnight to anyone who cares first.
	"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU"