Velcrometer
Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks
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M. Giant's Velcrometer Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks |
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Thursday, February 13, 2003 Moving Out I swear to God, this blog is turning into a karmic weapon. I just have no idea how to aim it. I make fun of the Osbournes and Sharon gets cancer. I joke about the chances of our shower door shattering, and it explodes at my wife days later. I drop a NASA gag and Columbia is raining onto Texas within forty-eight hours. I kid—kid, mind you!—that our B&B in Austin was boarding a deceased guest, and today I get this e-mail from my younger sister in New Jersey. Apparently the guy in the apartment next to hers—a fellow who had introduced himself on her moving day by asking to borrow twenty bucks, and whose sense of boundaries went downhill from there—has, um, terminated his lease. With a length of rope. Debitch the Younger had been out of town for a few days. In fact, she’d met my mom in Washington, D.C. for a visit and some sightseeing. She returned home on Sunday and hadn’t seen her neighbor since. (Apparently this is unusual. I’ve lived in too many apartments to think that’s a good thing. But anyway.) Neighbor had been out of sight and out of mind for a few days. Yesterday, my sister called her landlord to complain about a bad smell in the hallway. I know that smell. Neighbor was not, sadly, out of nose. Shortly thereafter, the police were on the scene to cut down Neighbor’s distressingly funky remains. My sister said it was like a very short episode of Law & Order that ended before the opening credits. Two hours later, an ambulance screamed up with lights flashing. That tells me that the EMTs in my sister’s town are either very bad or very, very, very good. My sister is understandably a little freaked out right now. I mean, for four days she lived next door to a dead guy. Who was home. She spent last night in a hotel, and I can’t blame her. I’d much rather sleep where somebody probably committed suicide at some unknown point in time than next door to where I knew somebody committed suicide a week ago. On the other hand, this is something she can use to her advantage. She can save a lot of money in rent. Just think of all the things she can say to the landlord now: “If it weren’t for me, you’d still have a dead tenant.” “I’m buying air fresheners in bulk now, you know.” “When are you going to start showing the apartment? Because I’d like to meet my potential neighbors and tell them the story before they sign anything.” “Did you know I can reach the neighbor’s window from my window and paint REDRUM on it?” “Are you sure it was really Neighbor who was dead in there? Because I swear I woke up and saw him hovering above my bed last night.” So my sister isn’t too bad off. But I’m still stuck with the problem of having a blog that kills people. I’m at the controls of a mysterious force that’s affecting the fabric of the universe, but I have no idea what any of those controls do. This must be what it’s like to be Alan Greenspan. But…uh…how about that Saddam Hussein, huh? Gosh, it’d sure be a shame if anything was to happen to him without the U.S. being involved in any way. Yeah, that sure would suck, all right. Boy howdy. What? It’s worth a try. And Kim Jong Il also. posted by M. Giant 3:39 PM 0 comments 0 Comments:
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