wednesday night waltz - can the left win? a q and a with zephyr teachout cat ownership not linked to mental health problems excessive ceo pay and dumb luck why facts don't chang...
Monday, February 28, 2011
Stop Trying to Kill Me
I don't know how I can make this any clearer. Yes, I am an animated ventriloquist's dummy. No, I am not trying to stab you or steal your soul. Can you just stop trying to fucking kill me?
Okay, okay. I'm sorry, that was a little harsh. I don't mean to sound angry about this. I understand that from your point of view it might be disconcerting to hear the lock snap on that old steamer trunk up in the attic at midnight... followed by the clatter of tiny, spindly wooden legs and me appearing at the foot of your bed. It would startle a person. Sure. But you know what? Twenty minutes ago I was not even alive. I wake up in this closed space that smells like mothballs and old people, and everything is strange. I'm just trying to find someone to explain it to me, when all of a sudden some lady is screaming at me and chasing me with a hairspray blowtorch.
Look, I won't come any closer. I am just going to clamber up in this seat and stare at you with my large, unblinking eyes while we talk about this. Do you remember anything about the person who shipped you the steamer trunk? Was there a note or a set of instructions? Anything written in ancient Assyrian?
Do you have other living ventriloquist dummies? Any porcelain dolls with glass eyes that seem to be in a different place every morning? Huh. No, that's not it then. This is just weird. Not as weird as a lifeless wooden doll being animated with some kind of strange, mystical energy, but still. I know this is personal, but have you murdered anyone in the past seven years and hidden their body? Sorry. I had to ask.
Well I guess there's nothing for me to do but make my way in the world. Um, I'm going to find an abandoned carnival or schoolhouse or something tomorrow, but for now could I just grab a rest in the guest bedroom? I don't need much. I'll just prop myself up near a wall or something and sit deathly still for a few hours. It's what I do, Miss...
Wait. Did you say LaVelle? Judy LaVelle? And you dated a guy named Steve, who was really into magic and crap like that, didn't you? And you just broke up three weeks ago? Wow. It's all coming back to me.
Sorry about the mix-up. Yeah, look: You'd better get the hairspray, because I have to try to stab you now. It's on.
(Image grabbed from Upon A Midnight Dreary, from the movie Dead Silence.)