A picture is worth 1000 words. This safe has been through a lot. Tell its story. Image credit: “safe” – © 2007 Paul Keller – made available under Attribution 2.0 Generic

I have been sitting here for the past 30 minutes trying to think of something to write about. I figured I would spare you all from another post about beards and the Red Sox (even though I know you all look forward to reading about those two subjects), so I clicked on the “inspire me” button. Upon clicking, I get a picture of the safe above, and I’m supposed to tell you it’s story. Prepare to be inspired. Readers, I give you True Life: I Auditioned for “The Italian Job”.

Rusty – pictured above – lived the wonderful life. Getting his name not from his current appearance, but from the fact that he was conceived on a pile of rusty scrap metal in the middle of the dreary Aberdeen Reservoir in Washington (130.6 inches of precipitation annually). Rusty was a lady-safe killer, making all of them swoon with his broad structure, tight core, and chiseled corners. The amount of square-feet he was packing made all of the lady-safes doors open instantly when entering the club (talk about a show stopper). Little did he know, his glory days would take a horrendous turn for the worst when he was introduced to Steela, the hottest, baddest safe in the land.

Everything started out perfect, almost dream-like – as do all relationships. During the honeymoon stage, Rusty and Steela would often attend safe cracking seminars where the worlds best safe crackers would try to crack the toughest safes from around the world. The two would tease all of the safe crackers into thinking they cracked the safe, when in reality Rusty and Steela would imitate the “click” sound a combination-lock makes when the code is cracked. When the safe cracker was filled with accomplishment from hearing the “click”, he would crack the slightest of smiles, stand up, turn the handle, and to no avail the door would not open. This would lead to Rusty and Steela sliding out of the seminar, giggling like little school girls.

As the leaves began to change colors, and the long summer days turned to brisk fall nights, Rusty and Steela were beginning to drift apart. The once tight bond that held them together was diminishing faster than Lindsey Lohan’s sober-stint (the first one, not the second, third, fourth, fifth…). They began getting into fights about whose combination was harder to crack, whose turn it was to wash the dishes, and who left the toilet seat up (you know, only the important matters). Steela couldn’t take it anymore and ended up giving Rusty an ultimatum: if he could be the lead safe in the Italian Job, she would take him back with open doors. So off Rusty went; hoping to reignite the passion the two had back in their safe-cracking seminar days.

The only means of transportation Rusty could take to make it to the audition in time were those that involved sitting in the bed of travelers trucks – hitchhiking. He would flag these travelers down with his high stature and eagle-like door-span – and also the fact he would center himself in the lane holding them at gunpoint. Many of rainy nights in the beds of strangers trucks led to the current reason behind his name. Rusty’s once shiny exterior, that made you shade your eyes even with your stylish Ray Bans on slowly started cracking and turning all sorts of dark colors. The corrosion caused by the moisture began to affect his combination lock. By the time Rusty made it to the auditions, he was looking a hot mess. Not even enough hair and make up from the worlds best makeup artists could hide all of his blemishes. When it was his turn to stand there as Stella Bridger (Charlize Theron) tampered with his lock (sounds sexual), it opened as easy as a strippers legs do when she’s dancing to the Pussy Cat Dolls (now THAT is sexual). He was so embarrassed he fled the auditions and sulked outside the local Waffle House.

After weeks of sulking, the once idolized safe finally gathered enough courage to contact his one true love. He pulled out his iPhone 5C and commented on her Facebook wall explaining what happened. He told her that the rain ate away at his stunning outer-coat, and the sliding back-and-forth within the beds of trucks made his once razor sharp edges dull enough for a baby to play with. She ended up liking the post (which I find weird), and then commented on it saying, “I never want to see you again. I hope you flee the country due to your embarrassment. Have a SAFE life.” (Yes, she capitalized her pun to make it obvious.)

This is the last selfie Rusty has posted to his Instagram @RustyMan_420. It was posted about two years ago. From the background one can assume he’s in the abandoned city of Chernobyl. One can also assume he is no longer living, especially after seeing what happened to those poor young travelers who went to Chernobyl to right a diary, or something like that. May he rest in peace.

What can you take from this devastating story? Nothing. Abso-freaking-lutely nothing.

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