Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Who You Gonna Call?

*Cue Twilight Zone Music*
Submitted for your approval: A tasty sammich; a man; a mystery....
Next stop, the CUG Zone...


I think I have a ghost in my house.
It was very strange this morning.

It was dark and stormy.
Lightening was flashing and the thunder was grumbling and booming; the house trembled.

There was an almost palpable tension in the air.
There was unease, nay fear, hanging in the dank gloom of the early morn.

The lights flickered, threatening to go out, but not fulfilling their implied promise of darkness and hopelessness.

The satellite picture was intermittent, interrupting my normal maniacal patriotic monitoring of Fox News. (Because it is fair and balanced.)

I was making a turkey sandwich on the kitchen counter to take to work for lunch.
Suddenly, I had a nature call.

I left the sandwich, with its generous mound of decomposing turkey flesh (mmmmmm...), on the counter, to await the final construction and packaging phase, which would involve much bacon (surprise!) and lettuce.

After peeing, and thanking the good Lord for not hitting my plumbing (literally and figuratively) with lightning while I was doing so, I washed my hands.
(Yes, I am not only witty, but hygienic as well.)

I returned to the kitchen, sensing something was amiss, and much to my dismay, I found that with nary a sound nor any other obvious indicator, my sammich had disappeared!

I looked hither.
I looked yon.

But to no avail.
Fruitless.

And sandwichless.

Note: The following picture is not an actual picture of the AWOL sammich in question, but an artistically masterful and realistic re-creation of the missing delicacy (*sniff*):











It looked so happy and carefree....

Here is shocking, indisputable photographic evidence of the missing lunch staple and its paranormal implications; it was right here! (For you hippies, please note there is no sandwich in the picture, as it is missing.)















Of course, I immediately reached for my weapons, as apparently a dangerous, ravenous interloper had surreptitiously made his way into my humble (yet tastefully decorated) abode!!!

But then, as I quickly swung around with shotgun and pistol at the ready (I'm moderately ambidextrous), I suddenly thought to myself,
"Self, your two dogs, one of whom coincidentally has a head that is countertop height when standing, would have barked and howled and snarled and yipped at, and then bitten and ultimately rent asunder, any intruder whom may have breached the intrinsic security mechanisms of your domicile, and who then might have subsequently tried to pilfer the tasty, meat-laden repast in question".














There would have been no way I could have missed the ensuing canine cacophony, had someone entered with nefarious, luncheon-meat filching intentions.

An intruder would have met with something akin to this:

















Grrrrrr!
A full-on Jake-assault!!!

Thus, the only logical conclusion is (thank you Occam!), understandably, that a hungry, ill-mannered ghost has nestled into my culinary haven, without so much as a please or thank you.

That bastard.

Maybe I need an exorcist.
(Now why does Jake look so happy?)