The story of El Techador

The night is cool as it wanes to yield to the morning rays, distantly birds sing a morning proclamation, and in the large bed at 516 W. 8th St. a man sleeps. He is dreaming of far off places filled with beautiful women, exotic locations and magical abilities. A light breeze from his open window tussles his hair as he takes another deep relaxed breath.

When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter. This was far above him, but no Santa Claus. An air raid perhaps? The hit broadway musical Stomp!? Gary Busey?

He arose to peer out his window only to come face to face with a 30ft long industrial grade dumpster. As his mind was starting to join his body in a mutual alertness level, he began to put the pieces together. Something his landlord said yesterday about a fabled beast coming to terrorize college students in the wee hours of the morn. Yes...El Techador had descended on Bearcat village. He had heard stories of the terrors from the village across the street and had merely shrugged them off.

The fool.

He grabbed the window sill and slammed it down with a resounding thud that still paled in comparison to the now regular slamming of debris as El Techador destroyed the top of the apartment. Bigger and bigger pieces until the very shelter meant to keep out the harshest of midwestern weather was sheared away. Far away he could make out what he thought was music but was in a tongue that he'd never encountered before. This was hell. He felt bad for the lasses up the stairs but this was survival and it was better them than he. Grudgingly he took a swig from his flagon of NyQuil, covered his head with many layers of down and went back to sleep.

And so ends the tale of El Techador. Take heed traveller, for one knows not when the beast will strike and ruin thine afternoon nap.