One sunny Saturday afternoon, a grasshopper, a snail, and a centipede were kicking back at the grasshopper’s house, happily knocking back a few ice-cold beers and enjoying the weekend.
Unfortunately, they ran completely out of drinks long before they were actually ready to quit partying. Realizing the dilemma, they all agreed that one of them would have to make a quick run to the local liquor store to restock.
The snail immediately shook his head and opted out. “Look, I’d gladly go,” he said, “but I’m painfully slow. Besides, Grasshopper, this is your neighborhood, so you already know exactly where to go.”
The grasshopper shook his head too. “I don’t mind going, but think about it: all my frantic hopping is going to violently shake up the beer cans. We’ll get sprayed in the face every single time we try to open one!”
After a brief discussion, they both turned their eyes toward the centipede. With all those legs, they figured he would be absolute lightning on the pavement. The centipede agreed to the task, and the grasshopper gave him precise, step-by-step directions to the nearest shop.
An hour slowly passed by, and there was still no sign of the centipede or the beer. Parched and growing increasingly impatient, the grasshopper and the snail finally decided to head outside to see what was taking him so long.
They only made it as far as the front porch.
Right there, sitting flat on the welcome mat, was the centipede—sweating profusely and frantically tying the laces on his forty-second shoe.
