Inspired by the BWC

Chad woke up in the dark. He managed a moan — the brilliant moonlight shimmered off the snow and into his watering eyes. Then he remembered: the expert slope.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP THERE, CHAD!?” screamed Mrs. Johnswick.

“I’m totally going to wail on this hill, Mom!” He rolled up the sleeves of his new Burton jacket to reveal his sleeve of “tats”. Within three seconds, he lost his balance. Onlookers, grasped their jaws in horror as his crumpled body lumped down the near 90 degree slope. The jagged rocks alone preserved his life — curbing his deadly speed intermittently.

It was a half an hour later when he awoke with his legs wedged underneath a fallen tree and accumulating snow. Icy tears rolled down his face and his moans became wails.

“Mommmmmmy! UUUUUuuugh!”

His crescendo of pain reached rescue dogs already on the case. Soon, they were licking his frosty face and howling for back-up. Six Nordic blondes arrived close behind on snowmobiles. Their impeccable snow attire gave Chad a semi underneath amid his otherwise frozen pelvic mess.

Delirium set-in as Chad cried to the ski rescue fashion squad.

“I wanna…I wanna…I wan.”

“Shhhhh,” whispered long-limbed elven prince number 1.

A second medic stroked Chad’s fragile ego hair.

“We’ll have you out of here in NO TIME.” she chimed enthusiastically.

But the extrication was long and painful. Chad’s cries accumulated American voyeurson like an accident on the freeway. Overzealous gawkers piled up below — victims of their own terminal nosiness.

These drastic times called for drastic measures. Lead encino man technician, Edsel Summerall had forgotten his morphine syringe. A burly left-cross to the jaw substituted just fine. Chadwick slept like a baby in his mother’s bosom as they hauled him to the snowlift a short 35 minutes later.

The wounds to his lower legs made him an automatic amputee candidate. His feet swung from the ankles like meat in a locker. Doctor Roosevelt had just returned from his vacation in the safari in the Sahara. His maladjusted stomach purged in a wastecan near the makeshift operating table. Appendage killing cold had luckily stopped the majority of patient 245968’s bleeding.

Nurse Salavea wiped Dr. Roosevelt’s mouth and sterilized the hacksaw. It would have to be quick lest Chad awaken. Down to business, the doctor cleaved both feet with one heart downward slice. Only a small amount of slushy marrow spilled forth.

Dr. Roosevelt scratched his head.

“Dump more ice on those legs, get a demeroyl iv in him, and wake him up. We’ve got a few decisions to make.”

Heavier than usual snow had blocked all highways to the slopes. Transplant feet were plentiful in these parts, but access was risky. The governor wouldn’t send a helicopter for a douche like Chad. Dr. Roosevelt knew better than to ask. He shook his head at the site of his Nike/Airwalk snow goggles and still perfectly gelled hair.

Chad awoke with a start.

“MOMMMAAAAAAh!” he wailed. Attendent two stood ready to knock Chad back to dreamland. Dr. Roosevelt intervened.

“Chad?” he said, looking down at his emergency medical bracelet. Chad stared back vapidly giving a slight nod.

“I need to go over a few options with you.”

He stared back with a modicum of comprehension.

“I’m just going to lay this right on you. Your feet are gone.” He continued without pausing for reaction. The attendants braced for the worst.

“You have a choice of various objects around this lodge as substitutes. Uhh, forks, knives, basesball bats, badmitton rackets, skiis, snowboar…”

“Yeah!” gasped Chad enthusiastically. “Totally sweet!”

The personnel released their grip and sidled into shocked of their own.

Dr. Roosesevelt did not waste time deliberating. He was only interested in the grim facts…reality.

“Nurse, please bring his snowboard from the waiting room.”

“I brought two! Get the other one from my satchel too!”

The surgery moved swiftly as Dr. Rosy — affectionately and ironically dubbed — worked without sympathy or haste while grafting the snowboards to Chad’s ankles.

In recovery, Chad could hardly wait to call all of his many friends on his Razor phone. Also an mp3 player, it soothed some of the lingering damage to his frail self-esteem. He thought about how he’d board into school soon to the delight of his peers. He savored the theoretical gazes of the Hot Topic debutantes and the envy of his bandmates.

A blinking light appearing on the top of his Razor. Sweet! A new PODCAST! he thought.

With the push of button, he began the dowload. Seconds later, he was listening to the soothing voice of Al Gore.

The polar icecaps are melting. What does this mean for our environment? We can say goodbye to snow for sure…

His eyes glazed over with tears as he wheeled his bed over to his nearby gearbag. Furiously, tragically, he pulled forth a Shaun White VHS he’d taped from the X-games. Shrieks emitting from his skull, he clawed desperately to get inside.

Nurse Salvea entered the grim scene ten minutes later to find Chad convulsing on the floor. Post mortem x-rays showed he had ingested nearly six-feet of VHS spool — causing irreversible internal stomach hemorrhaging.

Haley and Hillary Duff sang lullabies at Chadwick’s funeral. In the coffin with him was his Suite Life with Zack and Cody boxset. Onlookers noted he would have been pleased indeed.