I Don’t Do Sarcasm Anymore … I’m Post-Ironic

It is no secret that I hate animals. Ok, maybe hate is the wrong word. It is no secret that I dislike certain animals … the smaller an animal gets, the more I dislike it. For example, I love horses and horse riding, but when I look at cats I just think about the many diseases they have the potential of carrying. I have come to terms with the fact that these animals exist and I have learnt to accept their existence. However, there is one type of creature I cannot and will never be able to stand: The bugs. Why the fuck are they even here? Even the word ‘bug’ is trouble, just ask any computer programmer … though those bugs are the least of my worries at the moment. Right now I’m talking about the shit eating, light loving, life threatening bugs that inhabit our planet Earth. Why do I hate them? Many reasons, including the fact that one of them almost killed me about 20 minutes ago. I will tell you how, just let me go grab my portable ECG machine and check my heart is starting to go back to beating normally first.

Alright so imagine this: It is 11:40pm, I am home alone sitting at my desk playing around with the music in itunes when suddenly I see a movement in my peripheral vision. I automatically get up, grab my phone and move away without even looking. It’s a reflex mechanism I have come to develop over the years. From a safe distance I now look to see what the fuck caused my heart to skip a beat, and there it is. A species I have never ever in my 20 years of living seen before. It has long, thin, glowing antennae, a golden-beige coloured shiny plump body, and orange legs so fucking long they make Peter Crouch look normal. I immediately send a text message to my friend so that if anything should happen to me, the police have a record of the last time I was known to be alive and the cause of my demise. At this point the creature which I’m quite sure lives in a UFO somewhere, has moved across my desk onto my books. It’s moving faster than I dare to think about, so I name it Michael Schumacher. Just as I am about to attempt to take a photo of Michael, IT FUCKING DISAPPEARS INTO THIN AIR. WHAT DOES THAT? Now I’m actually pretty sure my death is near so I ring my father, and practically hysterical down the phone, I tell him he needs to come to my location immediately and go Jack Bauer on Michael’s ass. I am about to give him my exact coordinates when I hear a noise. Is it Michael? No, it’s my father laughing uncontrollably down the phone. I realise his help will not be here any time soon so I hang up and try to find another way out of the trap I am in. I guess before coming to kill me, Michael killed Harry Potter because I’m pretty sure he is in possession of an invisibility cloak. I look around for him for 5 minutes to no avail, so I decide to grab my laptop. As I am taking out the power cord I spot something and jump. Was it Michael? No. It was my fucking SHADOW. This fucker has got me jumpy as hell. I finally unplug everything and laptop in hand, I run to the living room. Finally safe, I proceed to send a text message to notify my friend that I am still alive when I feel something on my phone so I throw it to the ground [yeah, another damn reflex mechanism]. No, there was nothing on my phone. I’m just wigging out like Weird Al Yankovic.

I’m not brave enough to go back to my bedroom just yet to actually publish this entry because my blood pressure still thinks it’s a yo-yo. I do have one concern, however; they say your life flashes before your eyes when you are near death but I didn’t see my raunchy affair with Milo Ventimiglia anywhere between then and now.

… Alright fine, that only happened in my imagination, but one can still dream.

First thing I’m doing tomorrow? Calling the Men in Black.