Guess That Stain!
The other day Mitzi was watching Deep Impact, and it reminded me of the great "asteroid movie war" of the late 1990s. Remember that? It was like the war on drugs, except that it was a war between movies about asteroids. You had the aforementioned Deep Impact, you had Armageddon, you had...well those were pretty much it. But still, that was two more asteroid movies than had been made in the previous 2 or 3 months, I think. Those were wild times.
As much as I love my local library, I must admit that I don't particularly enjoy the game that I must play any time I check out a book that's older than 10 years or so, which is "Guess That Stain." I played my most recent round of this with a J.G. Ballard novel, which was doubly troubling, as Ballard novels are disturbing enough on their own without having the specter of nasty, indefinable blotches added into the mix. Anyways, I've narrowed down the stain I discovered in the novel to one of three things: it's either from (1) someone dropping a teabag onto one of the book's pages, (2) someone throwing a tampon that was shared by like 3 different women into a trashcan, but in the process utilizing one of the book's pages as a backboard so as to execute a nifty/bloody bankshot, or (3) someone using a severed finger as a bookmark. It's got to be one of those three. I just not sure which one. I sure wish I knew someone from that show C.S.I., because it would be nice to get a definitive answer on this.
And now, a true story of haunting proportions: the other day I was in the laundry room, moving clothes from the washer to the dryer. I accomplished this task quickly, left the laundry room, and closed the door, without bumping into or nudging anything. A few seconds later, I heard a loud banging noise coming from the laundry room...the very room I had just exited. Going back into said laundry room, I discovered a large hammer lying in the middle of the floor, right where I had been standing a few seconds previously. It had apparently fallen off one of the shelves in the room, but (a) I didn't recognize the hammer, i.e. I do keep a hammer in the laundry room on a shelf, but it was still in its place--this was an additional hammer, and (b) there's no real reason that it should have just fallen down then and there. I don't want to jump to conclusions, but I'm pretty sure that someone in another dimension and/or another time era is trying to clandestinely assassinate me for some reason (probably either because I'm so cool or because I'm the next Zingis-Khan**), and is attempting to do this by opening a wormhole above my head and dropping a hammer onto me, only his/her wormhole creato-ray sucks and s/he was a few seconds late in braining me. Nice try, would-be assassin. Let me help you out: tonight at approximately 11:30 p.m. I will be urinating on the steps of the Supreme Court while shouting the lyrics to "Pour Some Sugar On Me", so if you want to drop a screwdriver or a bandsaw on my head, that will probably be a good time to do so.
**That's right: I wrote Zingis-Khan. Apparently Genghis Khan's name is usually spelled just like that ("Genghis Khan"), but it can also be written as Zingis-Khan (look here if you don't believe me), and I think Zingis-Khan sounds way fucking cooler than Genghis Khan, so I'm going to try to get it back into general circulation. It's another chapter in the book I call "Things That I Waste My Life Doing."
