22
Nov
Written by: Elliott
Alright folks, I am 100% sure that it is not my brother pulling this stunt. Why? He’s working the night shift, has a classy prepaid cricket cell phone (no iphone), and I just got a little message from everyone’s favorite “dead” Hungarian. The timing does not work up, unless my bro has a conspirator. But that’s unlikely. And here’s an odd thing…
…the half hour early email makes me wonder…I think this is some polite UK guy. First off, blowing me off with notice is just a bit too proper and polite for my bro. It is definitely not Santi. Santi would be all “yeah dude that idea for a post sounds great…I’ll get it to you later.” And then I’d be, what do you mean by later.” And Santi would be all “Did you read that hysterical article on Run of Play?”
Definitely not Santi. I also was a bit thrown off by the content of the email. Especially how he ended it.
Pusky? PUSKY? I have no Hungarian friends, have never visited the country, but am pretty sure that creating a nickname by shortening the last name and adding a “y” is an Americanism. This dude is 1) Sick, 2) Clever, and 3) As American as apple pie. And here’s the most disturbing part…
I get off twitter for five minutes, my new record, and head down to the creepy, dark basement of my haunted prairie mansion. The wind stops howling for a bit, the clouds cover the moon, and the “back part” of the basement has no natural lighting. But the lights work fine, so I walk without focusing on the wooden Christmas elves’ wandering eyes. The shadows…they’re odd. But I get to the freezer, feel a tingling sensation, reach to open the door, my arm goes numb, and I swear somebody taps me on the back.
But nobody is there. And Puskas has already canceled our arrangement/shakedown. I turn back to the freezer, open the door, expecting to see some really old and nasty KFC buckets, maybe some rocky road ice cream (maybe not), and of course, from the “trying to fit in with the cool D & D crowd” sangre de chivo. Don’t judge – santeria was big at my high school. It’s like wearing a letter jacket or going to a crappy low scoring Friday night (American) football game. You just do it and don’t enjoy it but do it.
And get this. The freezer is empty. EMPTY. EMPTY. No KFC. No nothing. I’m creeped out, and my mind turns to every horror film I have ever seen – and the unspoken rules of victims. First off, leave the creepy Prairie mansion. Second, LEAVE the creepy prairie mansion. So tonight I am crashing on my amigo Ricardo’s couch tonight. Pusky can go to town on the couch pillows and smear stuff or whatever. I hope he enjoys his “prior engagement.”
Oh, and I invited him to gmail chat…
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