Stupid Blorapope
I hate work...well today anyway. Nothing like teaching me how to use ALL the equipment before you leave me all alone through the supper hour...grr...anyway.
But instead of me going on about how sucky work was, I have a story for you. It's not one of mine, and I do not know who wrote it. So kudos goes out to whose this actually is...I received in an email last halloween, (and decided to post it since it's getting closer to halloween) and I hope you all enjoy it as much as me.
Oh God, Please Don't Eat My Brain!
The scream was caught in my throat as the hideous, green-ooze-dripping monster slowly crawled from the shadows that surrounded my bed. I backed myself against the wall, hoping that I could get beyond its grasp. Madly beating my arms along the wall, seemingly trying to climb it, I hit the light switch. Poof, the monster was gone. Sitting, shaking in the dark, I was finally able to calm down. Slowly I realized that the hideous, green-ooze-dripping monster was really just a small pile of bunched up covers and a large dose of my imagination. That night was the earliest point where I can remember having an overactive imagination.
Earlier that evening, against my mother's advice, I watched some low-grade horror flick on television. The movie was probably one of those seventies movies that had scantily clad young girls being dismembered by some horrible psycho killer that wielded some exotic purveyor of death, such as a meat cleaver or a staple gun. She had said that if I watched the movie, I would have nightmares. If I had only known at the time how right her prediction would be.
When I went to bed, my parents tucked me in, opened all the closet doors, turned on my nightlight, and bade me goodnight. Sitting in the dark, I thought that what my mother had said was false. I thought, “There's no way a psychotic killer could get into my room.” “Especially if he had one of those grass trimmers with a length of chain on the end instead of that flimsy nylon stuff.”
With that, I fell into what I thought would be an uninterrupted night's sleep.
While dreaming of being a member of G.I. Joe, I thought I heard someone speaking to me.
"Hey little boy."
"Who said that?", I exclaimed out loud as my pulse rose to a nearly inhuman rate.
"It's me, the generic psychotic killer. You know, the type that secretly lives under the beds of scared little boys."
"Uh...no, I don't know anything about those type of people.", I said, trying to be coy. I hoped that if I was sneaky enough, that I could trick the evil psychotic killer into thinking that he wasn't really there.
"Silly boy, do you think that your infantile little game will be able to trick me! Not only am I a psychotic killer, but I'm a psychic psychotic killer. Anyhow, that stupid trick wouldn't fool me even if I wasn't psychic. You see, I went to a good community college and got an Associates of Arts degree in Purveying Death."
"Hah! Mr. stupid killer.", I proclaimed triumphantly. "There is no Purveyor of Death degree!"
"O.K., fine! You got me. I'm just a pile of covers sitting by a drafty window."
"Ha! I knew that all along.", I said as I finally fell asleep.
After sleeping pleasantly for several hours, I suddenly awoke with a start. "Is there anyone there?"
"Oh, just me."
"Who's that?", I asked, hoping that it wasn't another psychotic killer.
"Don't worry, it's not another killer. Just one of his gory puss-dripping victims."
"Do you mind not being so graphic.", I asked. "I'm going to have to eat breakfast in a couple hours and if you keep talking like that, I'm not going to be able to eat."
"Do you think that I like looking like this? Not only am I dead, but my hair's a mess and I broke a nail! Contrary to popular belief, being dead is not the easiest thing in the world to do."
"Sorry.", I said. "I didn't know. Oh, by the way. Are you actually there? Because if you are, you're probably making a mess on my carpet."
"Nope. I'm not here, I'm just a figment of your imagination."
"Thank God! Now maybe I can get some sleep.", I said as I drifted off in what was going to be a rather restful night of sleep.
Thinking back, that night of horrors was either the beginning of my career of creativity, or the spark that lit the bonfire of my imagination that makes the cold reality of life so much easier to bear. Even though that night was quite frightening, I think I awoke the next morning quite refreshed. Well, a child in the dark with an overactive imagination often produces interesting
results.
By: I have no idea, but I definately deem this post worthy and kudos to who ever wrote it.
But instead of me going on about how sucky work was, I have a story for you. It's not one of mine, and I do not know who wrote it. So kudos goes out to whose this actually is...I received in an email last halloween, (and decided to post it since it's getting closer to halloween) and I hope you all enjoy it as much as me.
Oh God, Please Don't Eat My Brain!
The scream was caught in my throat as the hideous, green-ooze-dripping monster slowly crawled from the shadows that surrounded my bed. I backed myself against the wall, hoping that I could get beyond its grasp. Madly beating my arms along the wall, seemingly trying to climb it, I hit the light switch. Poof, the monster was gone. Sitting, shaking in the dark, I was finally able to calm down. Slowly I realized that the hideous, green-ooze-dripping monster was really just a small pile of bunched up covers and a large dose of my imagination. That night was the earliest point where I can remember having an overactive imagination.
Earlier that evening, against my mother's advice, I watched some low-grade horror flick on television. The movie was probably one of those seventies movies that had scantily clad young girls being dismembered by some horrible psycho killer that wielded some exotic purveyor of death, such as a meat cleaver or a staple gun. She had said that if I watched the movie, I would have nightmares. If I had only known at the time how right her prediction would be.
When I went to bed, my parents tucked me in, opened all the closet doors, turned on my nightlight, and bade me goodnight. Sitting in the dark, I thought that what my mother had said was false. I thought, “There's no way a psychotic killer could get into my room.” “Especially if he had one of those grass trimmers with a length of chain on the end instead of that flimsy nylon stuff.”
With that, I fell into what I thought would be an uninterrupted night's sleep.
While dreaming of being a member of G.I. Joe, I thought I heard someone speaking to me.
"Hey little boy."
"Who said that?", I exclaimed out loud as my pulse rose to a nearly inhuman rate.
"It's me, the generic psychotic killer. You know, the type that secretly lives under the beds of scared little boys."
"Uh...no, I don't know anything about those type of people.", I said, trying to be coy. I hoped that if I was sneaky enough, that I could trick the evil psychotic killer into thinking that he wasn't really there.
"Silly boy, do you think that your infantile little game will be able to trick me! Not only am I a psychotic killer, but I'm a psychic psychotic killer. Anyhow, that stupid trick wouldn't fool me even if I wasn't psychic. You see, I went to a good community college and got an Associates of Arts degree in Purveying Death."
"Hah! Mr. stupid killer.", I proclaimed triumphantly. "There is no Purveyor of Death degree!"
"O.K., fine! You got me. I'm just a pile of covers sitting by a drafty window."
"Ha! I knew that all along.", I said as I finally fell asleep.
After sleeping pleasantly for several hours, I suddenly awoke with a start. "Is there anyone there?"
"Oh, just me."
"Who's that?", I asked, hoping that it wasn't another psychotic killer.
"Don't worry, it's not another killer. Just one of his gory puss-dripping victims."
"Do you mind not being so graphic.", I asked. "I'm going to have to eat breakfast in a couple hours and if you keep talking like that, I'm not going to be able to eat."
"Do you think that I like looking like this? Not only am I dead, but my hair's a mess and I broke a nail! Contrary to popular belief, being dead is not the easiest thing in the world to do."
"Sorry.", I said. "I didn't know. Oh, by the way. Are you actually there? Because if you are, you're probably making a mess on my carpet."
"Nope. I'm not here, I'm just a figment of your imagination."
"Thank God! Now maybe I can get some sleep.", I said as I drifted off in what was going to be a rather restful night of sleep.
Thinking back, that night of horrors was either the beginning of my career of creativity, or the spark that lit the bonfire of my imagination that makes the cold reality of life so much easier to bear. Even though that night was quite frightening, I think I awoke the next morning quite refreshed. Well, a child in the dark with an overactive imagination often produces interesting
results.
By: I have no idea, but I definately deem this post worthy and kudos to who ever wrote it.
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