My vice president of marketing Sherm Schweinbumser entered his home with his dog and flicked off the porch light, never noticing that I was seated on a parked Zamboni in the woods across from the residence. As his house went dark, I cranked the engine and shot forward with my right fist raised. The powerful beast chugged over the street and up the driveway before crashing through the residence’s exterior wall into the foyer.
“Ah-ha!” I yelled.
“Holy smokes!” Schweinbumser said, eyes all but jumping from their sockets. He was sprawled out on the wood floor, covered with chunks of plaster, while his dog frantically tried to squirm out from under him.
“Didn’t expect a Zamboni, did you Schweinbumser?”
“No I did not,” he said, rising to one knee. “What the — what are you doing here, boss?”
“What I’m doing here isn’t the question, you swindler! It’s what you’re doing here — with fifteen reams of printer paper lifted from the company’s supply room!
“Printer paper?” He gave me a troubled look. “I didn’t steal any printer—”
“Shermie?” a female voice said. “What happened? Are you alright?” I turned my head and observed Schweinbumser’s wife and sons at the foot of the stairs. Unfortunately, Mrs. Schweinbumser was wearing a rather frumpy robe but much to my amusement, the boys were crying.
“Of course you stole the paper!” I said while putting the Zamboni in reverse. “Don’t let it happen again!”
A portion of the home’s second story collapsed as I drove off, leaving Schweinbumser to ponder the error of his ways. Though in fairness, he didn’t actually steal any paper. Not that I know of, at least. Rather, I rented the Zamboni and drove it into his house in hopes of catching a glimpse of his wife in a revealing outfit, but to no avail.
So yes, the Zamboni was just a ruse — but a damn fine one if I do say so myself. OZ-1 out.
Front page image source: Wikimedia Commons