Jimmy wanted a glass of water. He was not going to get it. His surroundings were quite apt to fulfill his wish. Jimmy was in a yellow kitchen, and though it had been built in the 60's, it looked like the kitchen from a 19th century Mexican hacienda.
There was a cupboard to Jimmy's right that reached from a reasonable height for cupboards all the way up to the domed ceiling. On its lowest and most accesible level it had every sort of domestic recipient known to man, which is to say a glass was well within his reach. To Jimmy's left, there were two sinks, each fully functional and perfectly capable of dispensing potable water. Next to the nearest sink, on an ancient wooden table, sat a jar of purified water, more suited to Jimmy's taste in the fluid.
Standing there in his pajamas, he did not ponder achieving his ultimate goal of quenching his thirst as any sort of challenge. He was thinking about the night he'd had, in which he had raised several million dollars to surgically repair cleft palates that made thousands of third world children look no better than the drawings they could make of chipmunks and rabbits, supposing they could get their hands on pencil and paper.
At his charity event, Jimmy had also met the love of his life. She was comfortably resting in his room, after an hour or so of passionate and entirely satisfying sex. As luck would have it, Jimmy was fortunate enough to have taken home the woman he would love for the rest of his life. She was as deserving of Jimmy's love as he was of hers.
His stunning mansion was cared for by his 82 year old maid Imelda, incidentally a wonderful woman who had seen him grow up and was immensely proud to be a part of his life in any way. He treated her with the respect he granted his own mother, and allowed her to keep working because she always said she would work until the day she died. He looked past the fact that her ancient hands did not have the stoutness necessary to clean a home as large as his. Her eyesight was rather bad as well, and she routinely "missed the spot" when cleaning, but Jimmy would always discretely clean up after her, thinking to himself that a speck here and a puddle there were a tiny price to pay for such grand company.
Being on top of the world, as it were, Jimmy's spirits were high, as was his line of sight. He saw the pitcher that Imelda had set out for him, as carefully as was possible for her and as lovingly as possible for anyone. On a normal day, he would've first taken a rag and cleaned the trail of tiny puddles left by Imelda carrying the pitcher from the refrigerator to the table, but on that night he felt so accomplished it didn't even cross his mind.
Jimmy walked towards the cupboard, opened it, extracted two glasses and began his promenade towards the pitcher on the table. In a rather predictable interaction between two liquids of different viscosity -the water on the floor and the baby oil rubbed on his feet earlier by the love of his life- Jimmy's feet and Jimmy's floor were no longer exacting traction on each other.
An athletic man, Jimmy reacted immediately. His arms flailed wildly to liberate themselves from the glasses they had been carrying, his right arm in the direction of the open cupboard, trying desperately to grasp at it. His feet quite gleefully slid forwards, while his iron grip kept his upper body in place. The result was that, as the glasses came crashing down on the floor, Jimmy was perfectly horizontal, floating four feet above the ground for a seemingly eternal instant.
Much in the same way as traction had predictably failed him, gravity did not. Neither did his iron grip. As he lost what he had gained from a vertical perspective, his hand invited the wood and glass structure to join him on his short journey down. He hit the ground, flat on his back, stabbed by the tiny, small and large chunks of glass that had beat him to the marble floor while the cupboard teetered and tottered.
At first, only a cylindrical saltshaker that had been left on its side by Imelda rolled off its shelf and landed squarely on Jimmy's testicles. Said testicles, by the way, had earlier produced a child who, had he been present a minute after his conception, would have never guessed he would grow up without a father. Finally, the cupboard came crashing down. As shards of glass and splintered stakes of wood ran through his flesh and tore open his bowels, all Jimmy could think about was how thirsty sex made him.
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