*DING* *DING* *DING*
New gift is listed in the Birthmas list! Forbidden Archaeology by Michael Cremo. I enjoy this kind of stuff. I remember stumbling upon the book back in the early nineties when I was reading Fortean Times on a regular basis. Nowadays, Fortean Times sucks because it's the same damn magazine except it's glossier and costs eight bucks. Eight bucks! It's monthly too! $4.95 a month is much more reasonable but that was more than a decade ago.
Anyway, what makes Forbidden Archaeology an interesting read is that nearly every cite is taken out of context from the source material.
Note that Wumpus is not surly, she's ornery. There's a difference somewhere in there.
Within the first hour, I was being beaten out by everyone else in the office. I was fumbling with the program since my routine was severely broken. At nine, I resigned myself to having an average day. At four, I realized I was at the top of the list.
I need these bonuses. Yes, I can safely and securely live (n.b. not survive) on my regular salary but I want to save up for big shit. Invest a chunk of change and prepare for early retirement that doesn't involve being found dead in an alleyway with my pants around my ankles. Go out and see the fucking world except I'm no longer really psyched about the prospect of flying from Alaska to Vladivostok then taking the Trans-Siberian railroad to Moscow, heading to the Black Sea, cruising across the Mediterranean, stopping briefly in Egypt then heading to Sicily for a month before finally heading north through Europe to England and then Ireland and finally sailing back towards New York City where I'll hop on the PATH at 8th, head into Hoboken, take the train to Millburn and my dad picks me up at the station.
Whew. I stumbled upon this site which stirred me a little bit. Right now I'm not going to allow myself to get carried away. I still need to reach the Pacific Coast after all these years.
Gas prices and the economy and my cheap nature kept me from the final leg.
Despite everything, I'm happy. At worst, I'm content. Plus I made a crank call earlier this evening around seven o'clock my time MST.
Upstairs, I decided to take the elevator. When the elevator arrived, I went in along with a bunch of people. The elevator door didn't close, which didn't bother me since I figured I'd be able to watch the transition between floors. Nothing happened.
Everyone exited and realized there was something wrong. I mentioned that we're lucky there wasn't a creepy nurse standing in the elevator saying "Room for one more, honey". That creeped out everyone and sent some packing towards the stairs. One woman mentioned that since that episode of the Twilight Zone was done on videotape rather than film it was originally in color. Over the years the color had faded and the print became black and white.
Back home, I realized it was high time to start cleaning up my apartment. There was a place in my living room where I would always take a piss. Fortunately the piss soaked area didn't expand beyond the one foot area. While I was moving stuff from the living room into my bedroom I heard someone in the shower. At first I thought my mother was in the shower but soon I found out it was someone else. The water stopped and there was a steady drip. The drip was the color of blood. raddidge came in and said someone was killing himself in the shower. A nine year old boy who was slashing his wrist for each year that he was alive.
He didn't sound nine years old, "You should do it too, spivak. Kill Spot too." I grabbed the phone and dialled 911. The 911 operator said she couldn't do anything but give me a suicide hotline. "I'm not the one doing the suicide! Someone is cutting themselves up in the shower! I'll set my house on fire so you have a reason to send over someone!" The operator started reading off the number at high speed and I interrupted "Bitch, get your manager on the phone!" She squealed with delight and hung up on me.
