'Til Death Do Us Part. The Greatest Prank Ever.

My beautiful wife, Ms. Lydia Sharp. This was what she looked like yesterday at 5:55p.m., right before she checked the mail.


My wife at 6p.m.



I love our sponsors..I really do. Thankfully I do, because the box sent to the house yesterday by Brian, James and Chad from beloved computer and light sponsor SIGMA almost wrecked my marriage and ended in my wholesale disembowelment at the hands of my 5'8", 120lb wife. This is what was on the doorstep, labeled with an "Office Depot" tag, addressed to me and the team in general. Has to be legit, right?



I was at work, and at 5:50pm had called Lyd and begged for a sandwich delivery. Glad to help (as always), Lyd made me some lunch and ..while still on the phone..stepped out the door. A box was there, and she brought it in. She told me of said box, and not having ANY TIES to Office Depot, asked her to open it in my abject confusion as to what it was.

The phone went dead.


An hour later, my lovely wife, dressed in a very small and very cute Dairy Queen t-shirt (funny, since she would die before eating that) arrived at work. Walking quickly and with a purpose, slightly demonic smirk embellished on her face, she approached me with a sandwich and said something "pleasant," leaned in for a quick kiss, then 180'd it and walked out the door. I said to my co-worker Nick that I just had the "Kiss Of Death." He said " What do you mean, she was perfectly nice?" Oh Nick, how a single-man's mind distorts the truth. Poor bastard, he'll never make it. Turns out that I was right. Inside the box were a pair of nasty, ratty, genetically filthy hooker-shoes. In her eyes, I was a cheating bastard and wouldn't live to see another sunrise. Seriously. I'm not kidding. As it turns out, skinny white girls will skin you alive with a potato peeler, and dip you in a pool full of acid.

Having dropped off the box for my mental torture, Lyd was gone and my mind began to race. Did I get with someone while drinking Vodka at Interbike with Amino Vital's Pete O'brien? Did I enter into a Hostess-induced semi-coma with Jim Wannamaker at Nationals and end up with a funnel cake girl? Nothing came to mind. That's not unusual, since there's very little mind left anyway, but no less confusing. I called Office Depot Corporate to ask where store number "84215" is located, in an attempt to track down the culprit. Nada. Frantically searching the box for a clue, a very small label appeared. It was a corporate mailer stamp. In very small red ink I found a number. Feeling like Fred from Scooby Doo, I hit zip-code search on the ol' Google...and up it came, clear as day.



Batavia, Illinois.



Now, the only thing besides bad Mexican food in Batavia, Illinois is SIGMA. Disaster averted, right? Nope. You see...something you learn early on about women is that even when they THINK you did something....even if they had a DREAM you did something..you totally f*****g did it in real life. Guilty. None of this Lindsey Lohan, O.J. Simpson "glove don't fit" bullshit. Guilty-ass-guilty. Even after James made a personal call to Lyd late last night, and even sent the photo to her of the shoes in the SIGMA parking lot...she still is holding me somewhat accountable. Let this be a lesson to all men. I have no damn idea WHAT that lesson is, because we are all dealing with our wives/girlfriends and that in it's self is a mystery...just let that be a lesson. Here's the deal, though. Shit flows downhill. Someone on this team, or affiliated with it..will get the "shit-gift" sent to them. It is now on you all to receive, then send out this box of disgusting, parking-lot-hooker shoes to the next person in line. Who will that be? Nobody knows.

Thanks to the guys at SIGMA for what was actually some very funny stuff last night...you know..if you like being scared to death and fear for your very life...that's what I mean by funny. :()