Thought I would share a funny read! (LONG) but worth it!
My FI is really good at writing things.......here is what he wrote about something that happend in the house a bit ago..........
_______________________
I thought the end was near... ; )
I first got the notion that a man-eating beast of a creature may have found it's way into our house, the laundry room to be precise, when ear piercing screams could be heard not only by me, but likely by those throughout the neighborhood. Kristy continued the scream, but the pitch of it climbed to ranges detectable only by our K-9 companion, Putty. He curled up on the floor and pissed all over himself. So did I... because a scream like that is usually followed by the silence of nothing other than a gruesome death. At least that's the way it happens in the movies.
In this case, it was followed by Kristy high-tailing it around the corner, feet scampering frantically as they try desperately to gain traction on the newly installed hard wood floor. They eventually did gain that apparently much needed grip and carried her into the bedroom (geographically furthest from the laundry room). I believe she was still screaming as she rounded that corner, but either the pitch was still too high for human ears to detect, or my eardrums had already ruptured because I heard nothing after that first siren of a death cry.
It seemed like an eternity that I sat there frozen, hiding behind the perceived safety of the couch just waiting for Bigfoot or Godzilla to appear from its new lair (our laundry room). However nothing appeared, but I did in fact hear some distinct noises in there. At this point I was able to recall her frantic commands 'GET IT, GET IT, GET IT...' amongst the noise reverberating in my head courtesy of Kristy's frightful near death hollering. So, I figured by virtue of being the only testosterone possessing person in the house, I'd rather be eaten by this beast than have to explain to fellow men how I did nothing more than piss myself in the corner.
So against everything instinct I currently felt, I released my vice-like grip on the couch cushion and stood up. The cats, clinging to the ceiling like Spiderman at this point in time, looked at me as if to say, 'it's been nice knowing ya, you poor stupid *******.' as I take a few steps in the direction of the beast's new lair.
The dead silence is abruptly broken when Kristy bellows, 'DID YOU GET IT YET???' from whichever bathroom cabinet she'd stuffed herself into. I thought I'd already vacated all urine from my body by that point... I was wrong! After regaining my composure, I once again moved slowly in the direction of the monster, all the while silently begging and praying for a military small arms specialist to barge through the side door telling me he'd take it from here. I was not so fortunate.
Instead, just two cowardly f#$king cats staring at the scene much the same way most of us stare intently at the TV when the news anchor prefaces the upcoming video clip with, 'this is very gruesome and very graphic, so please turn your heads now if you can not handle such a ....'. Having scribbled my last will and testament on a post-it note I stuck to the refrigerator on my way to meet my maker, I reached for the door handle leading to the dwelling of the man-eater with no better plan than to hope it spontaneously falls to the floor dead the second I open that door.
Almost as if choreographed, the moment my hand touches the handle, the eerie silence is once again broken when I hear some tapping or flopping or something from inside this lair. Apparently my bladder has several reserve tanks! Once again I get it back together. After a brief prayer I once again reach for the door handles, take a firm grip, and yank open those doors as if it were the last voluntary movement I'd ever make..................
.................... So a few minutes later I'm carrying a mouse out to the backyard......
The whole time I'm thinking to myself, 'Should it really be this tiny harmless animal that I'm taking out here when Kristy is the one more likely to be the death of me?!!'. I managed to keep that thought to myself so as to avoid another form of death at the hands of Kristy. I've since lowered the Household Alert Level back down to Defcon 1. Kristy doesn't immediately share that feeling of security however. So a pry bar and two shoe-horns later I encourage her out of the tight confines of the bathroom cabinet. She is doing a little better now. I will however have to take a crash course in doing laundry that includes female attire, because it will take months of therapy, more likely a thorough brain washing, before Kristy will once again set foot near, let alone in the laundry room. She can currently be visited between 5:15pm and 5:30pm at the Psychiatric Hospital. One person at a time, no sudden movements or loud noises, and don't make eye contact!
Oh, my apologies to those of you who were expecting a Stephen King-like, short story, horror type climactic ending!
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_______________________
I thought the end was near... ; )
I first got the notion that a man-eating beast of a creature may have found it's way into our house, the laundry room to be precise, when ear piercing screams could be heard not only by me, but likely by those throughout the neighborhood. Kristy continued the scream, but the pitch of it climbed to ranges detectable only by our K-9 companion, Putty. He curled up on the floor and pissed all over himself. So did I... because a scream like that is usually followed by the silence of nothing other than a gruesome death. At least that's the way it happens in the movies.
In this case, it was followed by Kristy high-tailing it around the corner, feet scampering frantically as they try desperately to gain traction on the newly installed hard wood floor. They eventually did gain that apparently much needed grip and carried her into the bedroom (geographically furthest from the laundry room). I believe she was still screaming as she rounded that corner, but either the pitch was still too high for human ears to detect, or my eardrums had already ruptured because I heard nothing after that first siren of a death cry.
It seemed like an eternity that I sat there frozen, hiding behind the perceived safety of the couch just waiting for Bigfoot or Godzilla to appear from its new lair (our laundry room). However nothing appeared, but I did in fact hear some distinct noises in there. At this point I was able to recall her frantic commands 'GET IT, GET IT, GET IT...' amongst the noise reverberating in my head courtesy of Kristy's frightful near death hollering. So, I figured by virtue of being the only testosterone possessing person in the house, I'd rather be eaten by this beast than have to explain to fellow men how I did nothing more than piss myself in the corner.
So against everything instinct I currently felt, I released my vice-like grip on the couch cushion and stood up. The cats, clinging to the ceiling like Spiderman at this point in time, looked at me as if to say, 'it's been nice knowing ya, you poor stupid *******.' as I take a few steps in the direction of the beast's new lair.
The dead silence is abruptly broken when Kristy bellows, 'DID YOU GET IT YET???' from whichever bathroom cabinet she'd stuffed herself into. I thought I'd already vacated all urine from my body by that point... I was wrong! After regaining my composure, I once again moved slowly in the direction of the monster, all the while silently begging and praying for a military small arms specialist to barge through the side door telling me he'd take it from here. I was not so fortunate.
Instead, just two cowardly f#$king cats staring at the scene much the same way most of us stare intently at the TV when the news anchor prefaces the upcoming video clip with, 'this is very gruesome and very graphic, so please turn your heads now if you can not handle such a ....'. Having scribbled my last will and testament on a post-it note I stuck to the refrigerator on my way to meet my maker, I reached for the door handle leading to the dwelling of the man-eater with no better plan than to hope it spontaneously falls to the floor dead the second I open that door.
Almost as if choreographed, the moment my hand touches the handle, the eerie silence is once again broken when I hear some tapping or flopping or something from inside this lair. Apparently my bladder has several reserve tanks! Once again I get it back together. After a brief prayer I once again reach for the door handles, take a firm grip, and yank open those doors as if it were the last voluntary movement I'd ever make..................
.................... So a few minutes later I'm carrying a mouse out to the backyard......
The whole time I'm thinking to myself, 'Should it really be this tiny harmless animal that I'm taking out here when Kristy is the one more likely to be the death of me?!!'. I managed to keep that thought to myself so as to avoid another form of death at the hands of Kristy. I've since lowered the Household Alert Level back down to Defcon 1. Kristy doesn't immediately share that feeling of security however. So a pry bar and two shoe-horns later I encourage her out of the tight confines of the bathroom cabinet. She is doing a little better now. I will however have to take a crash course in doing laundry that includes female attire, because it will take months of therapy, more likely a thorough brain washing, before Kristy will once again set foot near, let alone in the laundry room. She can currently be visited between 5:15pm and 5:30pm at the Psychiatric Hospital. One person at a time, no sudden movements or loud noises, and don't make eye contact!
Oh, my apologies to those of you who were expecting a Stephen King-like, short story, horror type climactic ending!
