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Over and over he rolled, knowing that sooner or later he would reach the step leading out of his living room.He would then tumble down onto the cool ceramic tile of the hall and be closer to the kitchen–the epicenter of what he could only assume, by the sheer magnitude of calamitous noise, was an utter disaster.

Ready to execute his ‘brilliant’ plan, Hopper came to an abrupt and agonizing stop when something thick, sharp, and unmovable made abrupt and painful contact with his gut.It was then that he realized three very important things: (1) Yes, he was on the floor, but it was the one in his office, not the living room.(2) The pounding in his head that sounded like Thor’s boots and those of his comrades striking the Bifröst as they ran to save the humans from yet another threat to their way of life was in fact coming from inside his head and was the sad byproduct of a massive hangover, for the second time in six weeks and not unlike what a frat boy suffered after a party following the big homecoming game.And (3) Maybe the most important of all, his mouth was so dry that his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, thus preventing him for yelling for help.

Cautiously lowering the arm that was still wrapped over his face and perched upon his nose, he grabbed ahold of what he finally figured out was the leg of his desk with his right hand and instantly wondered why his left hand wasn’t joining the fight.Wiggling his hips back and forth, up and down, and in tiny circles that any hula dancer would make fun of, Hopper was immediately thankful there were no hidden cameras in his home.Had there been, videos of his impersonation of a water logged earthworm scrambling through the weeds, searching for a hole while praying to escape the hands of a Tommy or a Billy or a Sammie Jo who was looking forward to going to the creek to catch a fish big enough to tell all his friends about at school the next day would’ve been all over Ghougle in a matter of seconds.

Again and again, he tried and failed to push himself onto his back.No, he wasn’t the strongest man in the universe, but he was formidable if he did say so himself, and he was pushing with all the alcohol-soaked strength his could muster.That could only mean one thing…

Something was impeding his progress.Something was underneath him.Something was…

“Well, shit!I am not only the Grand Poohbah of the Fraternal Order of Omnipotent Idiots and Honorary Lodge 999, but I am also an idiot.It’s my other arm!My other arm is under me.”Still unable to say anything aloud other than, “Mmmmmmmmmmmm,” he did just that but also thought the words.

On some level, the mumble inside his poor abused brain, made the whole situation infinitely worse.But Hopper was nothing if not determined and resilient.One way or another, he would figure it out, and that meant he had to start at the beginning.

Apparently, he’d fallen asleep–or passed out–with the aforementioned arm tucked under his body.Doing that drastically slowed the supply of much-needed blood rendering the appendage ‘asleep’ as the humans called it.Talk about a ridiculous predicament.For the love of all the little Cherubs flitting around Cloud None, he was an Omnipotent Being, not a turtle or one of those hard-shelled creeping, crawling bugs who had somehow ended up on their back and was sadly unable to get themselves right side up.

“A design flaw/ All the creatures with humped backs of any kind suffered from it.We all talked to Mother Nature about the problem.Of course, She isn’t one to take suggestions or criticism.As a matter of fact, the last time I said anything, She looked me in the eye, stated that it was all part of the plan and walked away without so much as a backward glance.”Groaning, something he could do without the use of his tongue, and he thought,“And that is why I stopped asking Auntie Mo Nat for advice.If I can’t give it to Her, then I don’t want it from Her.”

Still, he had to wonder, when turtles or hard-shelled creepy crawlies found themselves in such a predicament, did they pray and wish for someone to come along and roll them over?If they did, he never got the call.So, that meant they decided to handle it in another way.But still, he knew they had to mentally plead and yearn to be right side up for that was exactly what he was doing at that very moment.

Then, on the heels of that consideration, he thought,“I could live with not being able to turn over if my tongue wasn’t glued to the roof of my mouth.What I wouldn’t give for a cup of water.At least then I could holler for whoever’s was in the kitchen and pray they come and help a brother out.”

Come to think of it, where was Mother Nature when he needed Her the most?With little more than a thought She could solve the most immediate of his problems, the need for water.But She was most likely watching from the Upper Realms and laughing Her butt off at his foolishness.After all, it was the least he deserved for being the biggest eejit in the galaxy–for the second time.

Once again, he called out, “Mmmmmmmmmm.”And once again, his mumble went no farther than his dry, chapped lips.

Not being able to get help from whoever was tearing through his kitchen was driving him batty, but at least he knew where he was and that he hadn’t lost his left arm.It was just sleeping… Like he had been… That was something, right?

Sure, but did it matter.No, No, it did not.The time for wondering was over.He was awake.Someone was banging and clanging around in his kitchen apparently trying to wake the dead.And he had to go to the restroom.Another thing he and his Cousins had trained their bodies to do that he now wished they had not.

But that was a conundrum for another day.

Hopper had to move.He had to figure out how to get his lifeless arm out from under his one-hundred-and-ninety-nine pounds.He had to get upright, and he had to get to the bathroom.

Those were his immediate needs.So, he hatched, concocted, and pretty much made up as he went along a three-prong plan.All he had to do was make it happen.

First things first, get his left arm out into the light of day.

It was going to hurt.It was going to be almost as bad as having porcupine quills pulled out of his butt without anesthetic.No, he wasn’t a wimp.He just didn’t like pain.But then again, who did?Well, except those for which pain was an aphrodisiac to which he said, “Different strokes for different folks.”

As with most things, he’d learned the hard way that even Omnipotent Beings couldn’t Magically heal the unfortunate accidents they’d caused themselves.The things they’d done when they’d been told not to.The things they’d done when they knew there was a 0.0000000001 chance of success.More to the point, the things there was pretty much absolutely no doubt would end in physical pain and maybe even a few scars but they either ignored what they knew or just didn’t give a shit and did it anyway.

Preparing the only way he knew how, Hopper focused inward.He imagined a full supply of the blood that had been thwarted by his weight rushing back into his veins.He ‘saw’ the nerves reawakening and in that very instant, felt the phantom pains of pins and needles poking and prodding and attempting to rip through his flesh from the inside.

“It won’t last long.It won’t last long.It won’t…”

Pushing as hard as he could with his right hand, it took everything his hungover body had in it to roll onto his back.The resulting, resounding, and completely resolute thud not only pushed all the air from his lungs and rattled the molars in the back of his jaw, but inside his poor hungover brain it sounded more like one of those massive gongs the monks in the Himalayas rang to signal prayer time at the monastery.

Black dots danced before his eyes.The room spun like he was on a Tilt-A-Wheel at a rural County Fair with the best apple pie ala mode, homemade ice cream, and kettle corn that had ever been made.Then he was forced to hiss through gritted teeth–which made his dry mouth even drier–to keep from throwing up.

His arm was on fire.Yes, fire.Flames, not pins and needles, but real honest to the Goddess white hot flames were trying to shred his arm from the inside out.Millions upon millions upon millions of fire ants were marching and stomping their way up and down his veins, biting him repeatedly and with wild abandon and spitting their fiery venom into every fiber of every muscle in his arm.

It was unimaginable.It was insane.It was worse than having porcupine quills pulled out of his backside without anesthetic.It was…

“It is nothing you can’t handle, my boy,”the sweet lyrical voice of his Auntie, otherwise known as Mother Nature, chuckled.“Buck up.Stop acting like a baby.Better yet, stop acting like all those human men who whine and cry when they have a silly little runny nose while the females on that lovely, amazing planet give birth to three-hundred-eighty-four-thousand-one-hundred-and-thirty-three children a day.”

“But Auntie…”

“But nothing.Grow a pair, Hopper.”