Game night had just adjourned. Over the last few hours we'd put a decent dent in my freshly opened handle of Crown Royal. I made my way downstairs to make my nightly deposit in the turd bank.
With a flick of the switch, there was the flash of a bulb, and i staggered around, my already precarious balance having not been done any favors by this sudden pop of lighting lightning. I flipped it a few more times, but without result.
I thought the breaker had tripped, but the other switches still operated the exhaust fan and heating element. I quickly retreated upstairs.
"The light bulb in the bathroom's burned out!" I complained. My wife was already on her way up to the second level. "Wait, where are you going?"
"To poop!" she replied.
My panic was swift and unrelenting. "Nooooo! You can't!"
"Why not?!"
"WHERE WILL I POOP?!"
"Downstairs!" she called back irritably. "We have more light bulbs."
Remembering my state of mild to somewhat more than mild inebriation, i returned: "I'm not going to change the light bulb now! I'd probably fall off the toilet and have a dream about flux capacitors."
"Would that be so bad?"
"Well, no...BECAUSE THEN I COULD TRAVEL BACK IN TIME AND PREVENT THE BULB FROM BURNING OUT!"
Unintelligible gibberish. The end.
