Happy November! The gateway to winter, is what this is. ARE YOU READY FOR SOME WINTER? I yelled that like they do on the football programs. Don’t even tell me that the name of my blog is misleading. I HAVE SOMETHING FOR EVERYONE.
For fun, guess how many trick-or-treaters I got last night? No, guess. GUESS. If you guessed anything but ZERO you are WRONG. None! No trick-or-treaters. I didn’t even see any walking around outside. Did I get the day wrong or something? So now, guess who has three whole bags of mini-candy at her disposal? If you want some mini-candy, I’m your woman. I’m kidding, of course. You totally can’t have my candy. HANDS OFF I SAID.
I need to think of a name for these increasingly-more-common posts where I just blather on about a number of topics because listen, do you even KNOW how much awesome is in my brain? You can’t even imagine. MY BRAIN IS A PINATA OF AWESOME. …and now I think we have the name for these posts.
CARA HAS STOLEN MY ABILITY TO SLEEP
So yesterday, I wrote about how ten years ago I woke up in the middle of the night and there was a shadowy man with sparkly eyes standing over my bed and I was frozen. BOO! Ha. You weren’t expecting that because Halloween is OVER, right? GOTCHA SUCKERS. Anyway, so after she read it, Cara, my honey badger of a friend, said “You were visited by a shadow person.” So of course, as you do, I thought, hmm, what is a shadow person?
THANK YOU SO MUCH CARA NOW I’M NEVER SLEEPING AGAIN.
Shadow people are a THING. A THING THAT PEOPLE KNOW ABOUT. And I read THREE SEPARATE WEBSITES that VERIFIED THIS. But there were more. MORE! Than THREE!
Shadow people are sometimes seen out of the corner of your eye, when you’re just going about your day all la la la, and sometimes standing over you when you are sleeping. Oh, wait, you totally want a picture HERE IS A HORRIFYING ARTIST’S RENDITION.
And HERE are some things I learned from a TOTALLY LEGIT WEBSITE THAT WAS TRYING TO SELL ME GHOST HUNTING EQUIPMENT. I’m totally picking up a Melmeter. They’re named after the creator, you know. His name is Mel.
“…the movement of shadow people is said to be quick and jerky, sometimes with stops, starts, and changes of direction, not at all like the smooth floating motion often associated with ghost sighting. “
“…some people report being able to discern that the shadow people are wearing a fedora style hat like a 1930’s-era gangster or a cloak.”
“…there are very few reports of positive interactions with shadow people.”
“Unlike the friendly ghost sightings that are fairly common, encounters with shadow folk are almost always frightening or shocking. In fact, even the experts that view shadow men as a subset of ghosts, usually concede that shadow men are a malignant beings.”
“One of the many ideas is that shadow people represent a Thought-form, ghost or demon that was created by extraordinary pain, suffering, and trauma in a dying persons life. Others suggest that shadow folk have been purposefully summoned from another realm through black magic or other occult practices.”
THESE ARE JUST UTTERLY NIGHTMARE-INDUCING FACTOIDS.
The worst is the FEDORA. Why is the shadow person dressed like a gangsta? Is he coming to make me an offer I can’t refuse, seeeee? Am I going to sleep with the fishes? I AM TOTALLY SO MUCH MORE SCARED NOW.
Mandy at Borkadventures had a similar situation happen to her, only hers was a girl, and Mandy said she didn’t seem malevolent. I’m going to assume Mandy’s Shadow Person was not wearing a fedora. MANDY. Was your girl wearing a FEDORA? I think this is something we should figure out. Probably it’s important since I’m going to become a ghost hunter now that I found that orb and I’m getting a Melmeter and all.
Also, it’s sad there are no positive interactions with shadow people. Now that I think about it, I blame the fedoras. It’s hard to be jolly when you’re wearing a fedora. Because fedoras make you want to be all serious, like you’re a grandpa. Or one of the Mad Men. Someone really needs to talk to the shadow people and tell them, listen! Cheer up! And maybe tell them to wear something more cheerful. I suggest a cap like those kids in Newsies wore. They were dancing ALL OVER. And I didn’t see it but wasn’t it set in the Depression, or something? If Newsies caps can make you dance even though businessmen are jumping out of skyscrapers, Shadow Men, WEAR ONE.
I’M SAD NO ONE COLLECTED THOSE LITTLE SPOONS WITH STATE CAPITALS ON THE HANDLES
So this article was in the paper this weekend and I cut it out because it just tickled me so much I wanted to read it AGAIN. I think this is a totally interesting window into my psyche you should note, by the way. Me reading the paper every Sunday: I read the inserts and such first. I throw the sports section to the wolverines. (I don’t KNOW what wolverines. THE wolverines. It’s a SAYING. It’s NOT a saying? Well, I just SAID it, doesn’t that MAKE it a saying? Good grief.) I work from the inside out and finally read the news part, which is usually pretty boring but it’s like taking your medication: you have to, really, don’t you? And then sometimes you find things like this and it makes it WORTH YOUR TIME.
FINE, I’ll give a synopsis in case you don’t want to click. Do we need to have a talk about your energy levels again, Clyde?
It is an article about some international autocrats and the memorabilia they collected when their houses were raided and/or just that we know about because we haven’t killed them yet. That was kind of harsh. Sorry. Probably we’re not planning on killing ALL the international badguy leaders, right? I don’t know anything about politics.
The things that stood out, quoted from the article:
“In one of Saddam’s mansions, U.S. forces uncovered what’s been described as a ‘1960s-style love nest, a mirrored bedroom, lamps shaped like women, and fantasy-art paintings featuring scantily-clad, bodacious women and buff warriors.’
The Guardian’s art critic…said the “artwork” was “dredged from some red-lit back alley of the brain.”
“A group of Western journalists in 1952 received a tour of the Cairo residence of King Farouk I, Egypt’s last king…Time’s correspondent reported ‘… a bedroom filled with a weird mixture of pornography, childishness and sentimentality — mild glamour shots like those advertising Chicago burlesque bars; Kodachrome nudes complete with pocket viewers; trick photographs that could be squeezed to make a fan dancer bump and grind.'”
And…my absolute WTFFFFF favorite…
“(Moammar) Gadhafi also had a well-documented obsession with U.S. Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice, who he called ‘my darling black African woman.’ Rebel forces found an album of photos of Rice in his residence in Tripoli, a discovery the U.S. State Department called ‘deeply bizarre and deeply creepy.'”
Um. I know. I KNOW. You guys, I totally know. These are baddies. I get it. But come ON. Saddam Hussein liked things like this:
(I know that’s probably not what he liked but this makes me laugh. What’s going on here? I don’t know. VOODOO FANGS! Someone’s RIDING A ZEBRA! Also I think maybe the woman’s saving the man, which, +1!)
Lamps shaped like women and “bodacious” fantasy-art paintings. TOTALLY FUN SADDAM.
(The Guardian’s art critic was SO UP IN ARMS, right? OH MY STARS AND GARTERS!!!!)
I also like King Farouk’s wacky photos that you can squeeze to make a dancer bump and grind. Pretty sneaky, sis. I like to think of this old-timey king all squeezin’ his photos and makin’ ’em do nudie dances and laughing and laughing and FINE probably also getting all hot, because he’s totally a weirdo perv.
BTW, this is King Farouk I. Um, he’s totally the kind of person who’s squeezin’ the Charmin, right? WHOA. Stylin’ mustache, chap. And a FEZ! You don’t often see a fez pulled off this serial-killery. This guy totally has a van with no windows he trolls public parks with. YOU GO KING FAROUK I.
And then, there’s Moammar, who TOTALLY HAD A TEEN-BEAT-ESQUE STALKER BINDER DEDICATED TO CONDOLEEZA RICE. And a little NICKNAME for her. I can’t EVEN. What is happening. And I just have to wonder, what exactly went through Condoleeza’s head when she found out about this? Are you outwardly disgusted but inwardly flattered? Are you all-the-way-through disgusted? Do you laugh? Do you cry? WHAT DO YOU DO WHEN THIS PERSON WANTS TO LICK YOU LIKE A LOLLIPOP.
I TOTALLY WORK WITH THIS PERSON
I don’t know if anyone remembers this:
(Oh, I can hear you NOW, you HEATHENS. M. WHAT? M. WHO? That’s Mr. Heavyfoot, for those of you who are not TOTALLY BILINGUAL IN FRENCH like I am. OK, FINE, I’m like 1/8 bilingual. I can say, very clearly in French, “Please speak more slowly. I only speak a little French.” THIS IS HELPFUL WHEN TALKING TO FRENCH PEOPLE. Because listen, they totally talk the FASTEST. Yeah, yeah, scoff it up, I can ALSO say “grapefruit,” “stop,” “why,” “fire,” and “library” – and string them all together in an awesomely perplexing sentence, “Stop! Why is a grapefruit on fire in the library?” – and when I was in Paris, I only got laughed at about 7/8 of the time I tried to speak French to the locals, which is where I got the 1/8 bilingual statistic from. I AM SO PROUD OF THIS ACCOMPLISHMENT. How, you ask, did I become this awesome? The answer is 6 years of French in high school and 2 in college. BAM I’M LIKE THE FRENCH MASTER BABY. It is totally the language of LOVE. And there, you see, is why I am SO SUCCESSFUL ROMANTICALLY.)
I work with Mlle. Piedlourde. SHE HAS THE LOUDEST FEET EVER ZOMG. And she walks past me 80 KABILLION times a DAY. Back and FORTH and back and FORTH and CLIP CLOP CLIP CLOP LOUD LOUD SHOES I WANT TO HIT YOU WITH A CAST IRON FRYING PAAAAAAAANNNNNNNN
Sorry. Sorry. So, to entertain myself, and so I don’t brain her with a frying pan (I mean, I don’t even HAVE a frying pan at work, WHO HAS A FRYING PAN AT WORK HA HA HA) I pretend I’m listening to that jazzy little M. Piedlourde music as she walks by. Doo doo doo doodle oo-doo…
HULK MAD! HULK SMASH!
OK, disclaimer going in, here. I KNOW DEAD PEOPLE ARE UNFUNNY. I’m sorry, dead person. I am totally sorry you are dead. I am not laughing about the fact that you died. I am laughing at the events that led up to your death. I wish you had NOT died, if only because it would be interesting to find out WHAT THE HOLY HELL.
So yesterday I started seeing news stories titled “Man Dies in Struggle with Police at Latham Gym.” And hey, I used to live in Latham. It’s really close. So I’m totally morbid and wanted to know more! I like crazies.
Here’s the dealio, friends and neighbors and also pervs here for the scantily clad chick on the zebra. Yesterday, a guy at Gold’s Gym (and SIDEBAR, but does Gold’s Gym scare anyone else? It’s right next to Kmart here, and when I used to go to Kmart, I’d be afraid to walk to my car because the testosterone level in the parking lot was SO EFFING HIGH) “fell off his elliptical machine” and then “went over to the machine where another man was working out, increased the speed of the machine and punched the man in the face.”
Was that enough? No. No, that was not enough for Roid Rage Ricardo*. (*Not his real name.)
Roid Rage Ricardo, “who police described as 6-feet-1-inch tall, about 230 pounds and very muscular, then pushed over several universal weight machines, each weighing over 600 pounds…then went into an office where he ripped computers from the wall and toppled office furniture.” (Which I totally daydream about doing here at the office EVERY SINGLE DAY, just so you know.)
The police arrived. They tased him. (TASE HIM BRO. Please. He’s totally being a nuisance.) The taser brought him down. A cop was standing over? on? his back cuffing him, when he “stood up with the officer on his back.” Like they were playing that chicken game in the water that they play on old-timey movies!!! Totally fun. Only with TASERS. And HANDCUFFS. Also, are you imagining him growling? I am.
He then grabbed the taser from the cops, may or may not have tased himself, and had a heart attack and died not long after. He’d been tased 4-5 times total.
OK. LET ME REITERATE. I’m sorry he’s dead. It is sad. I don’t THINK anyone who knows him is reading this? But you never know. If you are friends or family with this person, my condolences. I am sorry for your loss. He might have been the kind of person who rescued puppies on his free time while also reading to blind war orphans, who knows. The NYS cops have recently been accused of overusing their tasers; whether or not that happened in this case, I can’t say. It does sound like they weren’t able to restrain him without one. Eyewitnesses say he was out of control and they were afraid. Three or four cops were injured bringing him down.
BUT WHAT THE HELL WAS GOING ON AT THE GOLD’S GYM.
Fell off his machine? Randomly went over to another guy’s machine, made him run fast fast fast like it was torture, then PUNCHED HIM IN THE FACE? Then TOTALLY Hulk-handsed the weight machines and the office!
Steroids, right? Steroids. One of my co-workers who is a killer of joy and also always insinuates himself into the conversation unneccessarily said that it was probably a brain tumor but what kind of brain tumor makes you all muscley and go to Gold’s Gym to work out and then Hulk out all over the gym equipment, I ask you? That’s an unlikely explanation, Joykiller. I mean, I guess it could also be angel dust. Didn’t that make Helen Hunt think she could fly on an ABC Afterschool Special or something? Maybe STEROIDS LACED WITH ANGEL DUST. And then maybe some PCP and the marijuana cigarettes. THIS IS HOW MY GRANDMOTHER TALKS ABOUT SMOKING THE DRUGS BTW.
THIS IS WHY I REFUSE TO WORK OUT I AM TOTALLY JUSTIFIED NOW.