January 23, 2012
Force field.
Did you hear that? It sounded like a snapping twig, or a monster snapping its fingers to get my attention. It’s Wife’s birthday, and we’ve decided to spend the weekend in the country. Apparently, both of us forgot that the country is terrifying, which explains my current hallucinations of monsters doing jazz hands. Sure, we’re finally getting some peace and quiet, but that also means its prime conditions for a monster attack: partly cloudy with a chance of peeing my pants. This is not to say that I’m a complete wuss who is afraid of the dark, moths, and lambs (long story)–it’s just that, much like Don Quixote or a non-fictional mental patient, I’m a victim of my own vivid imagination. For instance, what would stop a Morlock from burrowing up through our cottage’s concrete foundation, plumbing, electrical wiring, insolation, drywall, and laminate flooring? Loud, nervous singing, that’s what. Which explains why Wife and I are currently huddled around the fire, singing Rihanna, and any other rhythmic car accidents we can think of. This way, at least the monsters won’t be snapping at us. They’ll be snapping with us. Ha. Ha. Ha. See? I’m laughing. Scared people don’t laugh! Do they? Ha. Ha-[snap] SWEET BABY JESUS WHAT WAS THAT?! Oh. It was only a moth.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Take back what you said about Quixote if you want to live. – Zorro
This comment is impressive considering you typed it with a saber.