First things first - I am sitting by a window, and the window is above a heater. I got online to check my email and my notey-notes, and... well.... to put it bluntly, it sounds like the nastiest, most perverted, Mr. Molesto is outside the window (no, not you, big i). In other words, I think the heater was making panty-pant noises as if this were "When a Stranger Calls" and... Oh God! He's upstairs with the children! The children! (Or, in my case, He's upstairs with Squander Pants! He's upstairs with Joey Joe Junior Shabadoo!) You may find this humorous, perhaps even amorous - you sick sick people!!! - but I just slipped into freak-out mode. This means I have started darting my head around like a laserbeam, and the eyes have become as large as plates. And not no sissy plates, neither, so shut yo' gapin' maw. I'm talkin about the super-size pasta plate, formerly known as "you-thought-this-was-one-serving-you-fat-bastard." And then... oh yes, there's a metallic cling-clang noise on the ground, and well it's all done for me, ain't that spectacular. This oughta be good, is all I'm sayin. And now the noise has mysteriously disappeared. I am so waiting for a Thriller hand to break through the window and Vincent Price to be resurrected from the dead, cackling like the beaten old hag of a body he left behind should cackle.
And to change the subject before I throw up on myself while screaming, I think it is also imperative to note that a Miss Eliza emailed me, saying : "yesterday, you should have smelled what came out of my ass...also, it looked like a duck - ha ha ha!" I think the most effective part here is the "ha ha ha" - don't you agree? I am not at all baffled by what could possibly constitute a duck-like figure in poo. I'm assuming it's poo. Unless Eliza has some sort of synchronized swim team substitute for urine, and in that case, I applaud you, dear Liza, for you have beaten this thing they call.... regular urine... and perhaps you have beaten us all.... to the punchline! Well, you wait for me there, love, you wait for me there. Cos I'll be there, with bells on and perhaps I might even be able to stand & pee - another baffling feat for the ladies.
Back to the frightened, scared, rodent-like business I'm doin up for myself here... I find it absolutely absurd how I think someone is staring at me through the slat blinds. And what's the most ridiculous, you ask? That I turn around and slit my eyes, as if to evoke a snakelike look, as if to say - you're lookin in at me? I'm more evil than you are, beyotch! (At this point, if I were imbibing too much moonshine, I would probably yell something like, "Good luck with the celibacy!" But we save those precious moments for dolls and Halloween).
Ok, I have to creak creak up the stairs and hope a hairy fist doesn't break through the window and grab me by the throat...