If cartoons have taught me anything, it’s that you can fit a lot of stuff in your pockets. Bombs, dumbbells, TNT, banana pickers, whatever- your pockets are a lot bigger than you think.

I remember I time in my youth, I had just reached drinking age, and had been going to bars every night. I’ve had a few drinks, and though it took me a lot to get drunk, I was pretty tipsy. I was waiting for my friend Ivan (though we called him Snowball,) to come pick me up.

This big, burly guy comes up to me and says, “Hey chump. Ya fucking chump. Whaddya doing just sitting around here? This place is a party and you’re ruining the mood. Have fun or get lost.”

In a drunken slur, I respond, “I’m just w- waiting for a friend. To come here. To the bar. He’s gonna drive me home. No drinking and driving, my girl tells me.”

For some reason, the man looks angry. “You? Got a girl? I ain’t listening to no shit.”

“I do, I do! Look I’ll show you a pic-picture.” I try to pull out my phone but my hand reaches into an empty pocket. “Uh… where’s my phone?”

“Fuck this shit. Fucking excuses and blabbering about your phone. It’s in your pocket right there, I fuckin see it!” He reaches for my pocket and fishes around.

“Hey! Hey, get off me!” I squirm and push but he’s stuck.

His drunken, angry face suddenly turns to fear. He starts to… shrink? No, but he is disappearing. Getting sucked… into my pocket? “What the fuck?! Help me! Please! Fuck, fuck! HELP ME GODDAMN IT!” He screams. His head gets submerged into my pocket, though for some reason I don’t feel anything different. People in the bar start to notice. Whispering and pointing, a few people run over, as if to try to help, but back away in terror. The beastly, burly man has been devoured by a skinny 21 year old with nerdy glasses and a goatee.

“That guy killed Lemon Squares!” Shouted some drunk. “Get him!” Called another. Some older guy grabs a empty glass bottle and chucks it at my head, but just as it gets close, my pocket opens. A slight breeze blows through and I look down to see an expansive, void of lint, keys, my wallet, and so called “Lemon Squares.” The bottle flies in and the people about to attack me back off, though one man stumbles forwards and trips, right into my pocket.

A extremely drunken girl shouts “Slash the motherfucker, Johnny!” Her supposed boyfriend takes out a pocket knife and attacks me, smartly from the side facing away from the pocket. Blood runs down my face from a clean slice to the cheek. I instinctively reach for my pocket knife, in my pocket. Instead I pull out… a longsword? Johnny takes a shot at me but I turn to him and he runs into the blade.

“Johnny!” Screams the girl.

“Kids got a magic fucking pocket!” Calls the bartender.

“What the fuck is happening?!” I yell. Suddenly, my phone pops out of my pocket.

A text from Snowball. “I’m here.”

“Uhh… I think I’m gonna go now.” I say.

“You think you can just leave?! After what you did you Johnny?! Someone call 911! Please!” Tears are streaming down her face. Normally I’d try to comfort someone in a situation like this, but I’m not in my full senses.

I rush out of the bar, The Revved Engine, and see my pal in his car. “Snowball- you will not believe what just happened.”

Snowball sighs. “What crazy story is it this time?”