It never really occured to Kurt to tell anyone. He was afraid. FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAR! He didn't know what to do. He turned to his left: LEFT. He turn to his right: RIGHT. He looked up: UP. He looked down: AHA! He decided to tunnel his way out of this BAD situation. He look in his pockets for something to dig with. He was in luck: He had one of those 'digging' things. Good for digging. GOOD FOR KURT! He started to dig. Dig. Dig. Digdigdigdigdigdig. DiG. dIg. Digdigdig. He dug. If he were to be interviewed for a newspaper, the headline would read "KURT DUG." Or, maybe "KURT HAS DUG."
The term 'dig' was redefined on this day. Kurt dug, and dug, and dug. He did not stop. He was in his thirteenth hour of digging. Straight. No breaks. No food. No water. No NOTHIN'.
The digging of the tunnel, going down. Down. Down.
Deeper into the ground. Ground. Ground.
Round. Round. Round.
Rabbit.
Digging: Man's Battle with Earth.
Digging became fun a long time ago. You should dig, too.
After the twentieth consecutive hour of digging, Kurt spoke. It wouldn't have been that big of a deal, except, WHAT Kurt said was most probably the single most beautiful phrase ever spoken by man. As the sky darkened, and the air cooled, Kurt raised his head and said:
"Fucking digging hurts my bottom."
The heavens cried, the seas turned to blood, the sky turned to ice.
As Kurt lowered his head, he heard a ruffling sound only a few yards away. He raised his head slowly, turned around, and in front of him stood the almighty Son of God, clothed in a loincloth, on his head lay a crown of thorns. He looked at Kurt straight in the eye, and softly stretched out his arm. Kurt was confused. Christ then smiled at Kurt, and opened his hand. In it he beheld a small WetNap from those Fork thingy packages from Kentucky Fried chicken. He handed it to Kurt, and said, "Here. I have one already."