humor

Indescribable Horror

by matt on May 27, 2008

in humor

My gentle readers, forgive me. As some of you know, I have dabbled in the dark arts from time to time. I do not bring these matters up on these pages for I know that some here are of delicate constitution. Yet, I feel compelled to relate the tale of my weekend. A weekend of family. A weekend of gardening. A weekend of horror!

Our Story Begins…
Some months ago, I discovered an unpleasant truth. I had been running rough and loose with my garbage, given the suburban climates in which I live. One night after a party, my garbage had been deposited in unprotected bags in my garage.

Usually, I take typical precautions by using an arcane protective barrier to ward off the little demons that flit through the night. Alack! It was a party and my spirits were high and I forgot myself. Shortly thereafter, I found myself cleaning the results of a nocturnal infestation: my garbage was strewn across my garage floor…and worse, the temperatures were far far far below freezing.

I worked quickly. I cleaned and swept. I bagged. I grabbed my spare can from the basement and filled it with the least desirable materials and set it down to be emptied in a bag…

…set it down…

The Horror
…to be discovered almost four months later, on an eighty degree afternoon.

And thus, my experiments in the dark arts continue despite my attempts to leave them in my past. Yes, externally I appear to be a normal man – clean and healthy. In reality, I harbor the most foul substances and evil ichor within the boundaries of my property.

There, I discovered within the can a mixture that had long ago been the remains of the party table: food, paper products…and snow from the garage floor.

Thus, my initial attention and apparently inevitable neglect forged these into a tarry black ichor at the bottom of the once white container. The substance didn’t move as much as it oozed when I tilted the can to the side. I cannot describe the odor except to say that I can smell only what I smelled at the moment I looked within and first caught whiff of that stuff. It shall be days, if not weeks, before my nasal membranes have healed. Yet, if you press me, I suggest it was something that combines the fetid quality of an ancient bubbling swamp with the rotten stench of a butcher’s bin on a hot summer day…but even then, these words are simply inadequate.

The Cleansing Ritual
I took this terrible thing to the curb, with a hose, and tilted it on the side. The initial blast from the hose did little except splash some of the goo onto my shoes. My carelessness had already shown itself once, in the creation of this thing…why did it feel necessary to teach me once again by ruining my shoes?!?

Slowly, the thick material began to move. It’s motion reminded me of something viscous and clinging: A stinking black vaseline is what comes first to mind.

Then! Then it began to come apart! Bits and pieces washed out of the can and into the street. Little by little, the thing lost its grip and was washed down into the sewer.

The Lesson
I took the rinsed can inside for inspection, to see if it could be further rehabilitated. In the bright light of the basement, I was mildly disturbed by a set of markings on the exterior of the can. There — I will admit never having seen such things before in my seven years and three decades — were a series of claw marks of various types and sizes of such nature that I cannot explain here and that I wish I could forget.

I took a cloth and some cleanser and removed these prints and stains.

I turned my attention to the interior. When I had finished performing the cleansing ritual my grandmother taught me on a saint’s birthday, under a full moon…using a solution so strong that I was hesitant to allow it to touch my skin…I realized that the smell was still present within the can! The evil ichor was dispersed, but it’s horrid smell remained.

Even now, the can sits with this solution within it, soaking in the hope that this powerful brew will melt away that which I cannot see but can only sense. To disperse the foul reminder of my neglect and foolishness…

We can only hope that it will work…that this evil shall be dispelled once and for all!

If not, I have to go to Target and buy a new garbage can.

{ 1 comment }

It’s unintentionally hilarious, if you ask me, which you didn’t, but I will explain why, as I eat a bagel, with unbridled fury.

by matt on January 17, 2008

in humor,none of the above

A friend pointed me to the Wikipedia entry on parenthetical phrases under the entry on “The Comma”.

First, I find the fact that the “Comma” gets an entry a bit funny but, as you know, I’m easily amused.

Second, witness:

  • Address: My father ate the bagel, John.
  • Interjection: My father ate the bagel, gosh darn it!
  • Aside: My father, if you don’t mind my telling you this, ate the bagel.
  • Appositive: My father, a jaded and bitter man, ate the bagel.
  • Absolute phrase: My father, his eyes flashing with rage, ate the bagel.
  • Free modifier: My father ate the bagel, chewing with unbridled fury.
  • Resumptive modifier: My father ate the bagel, a bagel which no man had yet chewed.
  • Summative modifier: My father ate the bagel, a feat which no man had attempted.
  • Any phrase that interrupts the flow of the main clause:
    • My father, chewing with unbridled fury, ate the bagel (free modifier).
    • My father, in a fit of rage, ate the bagel (prepositional phrase).
    • My father, with no regard for his health, ate the bagel (adverbial phrase).
    • My father, despite his lack of teeth, ate the bagel (adverbial phrase).

{ 3 comments }