Story with a Moral

So my friend 'Kraal En Mu'* is currently in a transition phase in the aftermath of her turtle being microwave'd (spoiler alert. but not really.).
EDIT: She's also in a transition phase with her name. So stay tuned.

In light of such recent traumatic events, she has been given due sympathies from both friends and strangers alike. Unfortunately the latter has been much more prominent. Namely upon the prospect of "maybe we could hang out some time and make s'mores....in Chatham" by one particular man with an affinity for lightning bolt symbols. (Side note: lightning bolt CYMBALS?! How intruiging. How drole. How banal. Further research is warranted.)
Now I don't even know where to begin to guess where Chatham is. Thankfully Wikipedia can help cirsumvent** this process and was able to give me an idea where it really is: in the middle of Nowheresville.

Being the dedicated, handsome, charming, responsible, witty, excessively hot friend that I am, I relayed my concern to her about how remarkably remote and far away it was from where she lived. Horror upon horrors, she exclaimed the now-ingrained-in-my-mind phrase, "he could like, [assault] me in a.....FIELD and no one in like a 500km radius would know!"

This soon thereafter dissolved into an intense follow-up along the lines of:
"bringing an [assault] whistle would be pointless...because no one would hear it"
"stray dogs might hear it?"
"but only if they happen to be in the field you're being [assaulted] in?"
"that's pretty much the only chance then isn't it."
"and then the dog has to hear it and interpret it."
"and then run to its master..."
"but it's a stray. it would have to be captured and housebroken and such."
"right."
"and that's 500km away."
"what is?"
"the distance from the [assault] to the to-be master of the former-stray dog."
"the master himself probably lives on a separate farm another 500km away."
"by the time the master understands what the dog is barking about, and gets to you, it will have been several days of you and him alone in a field."
"entire days and nights and numourous passings of the moon will have already occurred by then."

I think the moral of this story, when you boil it down and tenderize it after several hours of marinating, is:
DON'T GO TO CHATHAM.


*very Indian Jones-y. on a related note I am Jonesing for some twizzlers and/or red vines.
**well done, Arrested Development. you are now part of my daily vocabulary.