This is glue. Strong stuff.

In case you've been reading this for a while and haven't figured it out yet, I am what is commonly referred to as "a stupid person." If you're thinking, "Oh, he's so humble; I just love his self-deprecating sense of humor and how it makes me want to make out with him!", let me assure you that I'm not kidding, unless you're serious about the making out, in which case, I might be. If you're not thinking that and need an illustration as proof of what I'm saying, I'll just offer this...


The other day, I noticed my shoe was falling apart. The way I "noticed" this was after the third or fourth time I nearly fell flat on my face after tripping over something hanging off the bottom of it (this isn't necessarily the part where you can go ahead and conclude how stupid I am, but if you're in a hurry, it'll do). Eventually deciding that this situation was untenable, I sat down and took a look at what was going on. A big chunk of the sole had torn and was nearly three quarters off, flopping around dangerously every time I took a step. It's either a miracle or a testament to my inherent grace and athletic ability that I didn't face-plant several times...probably a miracle.
On the way home, I stopped at Wal Mart to get something for dinner and some super-strength adhesive to fix the shoe. People like to criticize Wal Mart, but seriously, where else can you stop and resolve two disparate issues like that at the same time? I found some stuff that came in an aluminum tube, labeled "Bonding Agent". It cost $7, more than other glue-like substances with far less serious sounding names (like "glue) and roughly half the price of a brand new pair of shoes (I never said they were nice shoes), and I was in business.
The back of the package was covered in teeny-tiny instructions, but I couldn't think of one good reason why I would need to put in a half hour of reading before operating glue. So I sat down on my bed, popped it open and smeared some between the sole and whatever you would call the part between that and what your foot goes into. I pressed the parts together and held them firmly and then put the shoe down. That's when I realized I had bonding agent (not mere glue) on my two fingers and they were stuck together. My mind went off at 100 mph in at least as many directions. Oh no. My fingers would be stuck together forever. I started to reach for a towel and realized my fingers would be stuck together and to a towel forever. I went to put my hand on the dresser and immediately visualized my hand glued...no, bonded!...permanently to the biggest piece of furniture I own. My body wouldn't be found for months (because honestly, who would even notice I was missing for at least that long?) and when they broke down the door, they'd find a skeleton with his bony hand glued to a dresser. It would be labeled "weirdest suicide ever" because there's no way a medical examiner would imagine anybody dumb enough to die that way otherwise. Yep, too stupid to even earn the description of "accidental death". That's when my survival instinct kicked in. Maybe I could get out of it by gnawing away at the dresser. Maybe over the course of several days I could chew off the chunk my hand was glued to and go to a hospital. Maybe, if it came down to it, I could actually chew off my own fingers. People have done worse to survive calamity like this, right? Oh god, I bet they'll taste terrible. When was the last time I washed my hands? I don't even remember! Not to mention it's going to hurt like a bitch. Maybe when it's all said and done, I can make a couple bucks off of being a motivational speaker, bravely telling others about my harrowing ordeal and how they can apply my story to their efforts to sell more car insurance. "Yeah", I thought, "I'm sure there's a huge market for people teaching life lessons by surviving their own stupid mishaps". Way to compound a stupid occurrence with an even stupider fantasy about the resolution and aftermath. As I sat there, becoming more and more panicked (I hadn't touched the dresser or anything else yet, but it was just a matter of time), one last desperate idea entered the raisin-sized brain-like thing rolling aimlessly around the inside of my cavernous skull: maybe, just maybe, I could stand up without touching anything, go in the bathroom and try to wash my hands.
Which is what I did. 
And the "bonding agent" rinsed right off.
It didn't work on the shoe either.
And I didn't get my money back from Wal Mart because I lost the receipt.