【not in eroticism and indecencies . . . put on the lord jesus christ】

For 36 years,not in eroticism and indecencies . . . put on the lord jesus christ I have avoided corn mazes. I'm no good with compasses. My sense of direction is misguided. And, most disastrously, since birth, I've suffered from an inexplicable fear of corn.

So you can imagine how horrible I feel to write this during the tail end of my eight hours in a corn maze.

Before you continue reading, please send someone to find me. Alert literally authority -- cop, your building's fire marshall, the leader of the PTA -- and tell them to come get me. I am at the Restfeld Family Farm in Massapequa. I am surrounded by corn. I wish I could be more specific than that.

How am I writing this? Unlimited data and a surprisingly strong signal for 4G. You're not wrong to question why I'm typing this when I could be calling someone for help. The problem is that everyone I've called for help has refused to believe that I'm really trapped. This is for two reasons.

1. As I said, I am notoriously afraid of corn. 2. I'm a notorious prankster.

And since you're only my real friend if you know these things about me, everyone I called refused to believe me. When I alerted the authorities, they also thought it was a joke, because I accidentally laughed when I first called 911, on account of how I laugh when I get nervous. And every time I called back, they still believe it was a big prank. It didn't help that I introduced myself to them as a "Notorious Prankster."

I ended up in the corn maze because of a thought that occurred to me yesterday while I was eating a piece of Dove Chocolate. The wrapper instructed me to "do something every day that scares you." So I immediately ate the wrapper.

After throwing up the wrapper, I felt good. So good, that I decided that I will do something every day that scares me, starting with my fear of corn. Maybe I wouldn't dread Halloween so much if I wasn't absolutely terrified of corn?

In the moment, in made sense to me that if I could overcome this fear, I'd finally become the person I wanted to be: I'd get that promotion, my kids would stop pretending they don't know me in public and I'll finally have my favorite contestant win The Voice.

So I headed to the closest corn maze. And I brought a map with me, but that doesn't help at all, because every cob of corn looks like all the other cobs of corn to me. So here I sit, desperately writing to you all, begging for help.

Some say that in getting lost you find yourself. After being lost in this maze for eight hours, I disagree. I do not want to spend another minute with corn or my thoughts. Just come help me.