Archive for March, 2010

We are the world

March 29, 2010

This past Saturday at eight thirty in the evening, I was sitting on position by the pool, counting down the last half hour of my shift, when suddenly and unexpectedly I was engulfed by darkness. Jumeirah Beach Hotel, Burj Al Arab, my fucking pool, all the lights that light the paths, everything. Completely absolutely 100% pitch black. I thought we were having some sort of power outage, possibly due to a mishap involving the Large Hadron Collider, and I had to get people out of the water because I couldn’t see shit. Like, it wasn’t blind-dark (I could still see my hand in front of my face), but it was pretty fucking dark. Unpleasantly dark. Uncomfortably dark. Borderline paranoid Blair Witch Project dark.

Anyway, nine o’clock rolls around, meaning my shift is finally over, so I make my way back to base to get all the shit out of my locker. Mind you, the lights inside are on. So I was really confused. But whatever. I get my stuff, go past the security check point, and up the ramp to the street where my car is parked, and then I almost suffered a heart attack. Why? BECAUSE I WAS IN THE THRILLER MUSIC VIDEO! I’m not even kidding. It was fucking creepy: all the lights were off, the street was closed to vehicular traffic, and there were creepy-ass people walking around with torches, shuffling and mumbling/chanting like zombies.

So I called the only person I knew who could fill me in on what the fuck was going on, and  I hoped that she was still alive and not sucked into some black hole. That person was, of course, Ten.

“Dude. I don’t know what the fuck is happening, but like, all the lights are off, I can’t see shit, the roads are closed, and there’s zombies walking around my car. I’m scared. Can you please Google the situation? Are we having a nation-wide power outage? Are we being attacked by aliens? Is 2012 happening sooner than expected?” I was freaking out. “No, Ona. You idiot. It’s Earth Hour dude, duh. From eight thirty to nine thirty, everyone’s supposed to be turning off their lights for some energy conservation thing. Just hurry up and come home, I made cookies.”

Ohhh, Earrrrth Hourrr. Okay okay, now it made sense. But I don’t understand how everyone in the world knew it was Earth Hour except for me. Why didn’t I get that memo?

When I got home, I of course immediately Googled “Earth Hour” and found some pretty interesting facts and images. Next year, I’ll make sure I’m prepared.

Decapitating Elmo

March 16, 2010

I was at a water park slash playboy mansion and didn’t really know anyone there. Somehow though, I made friends with this one guy, and over the course of the dream I came to trust him. He had a friendly face and a soothing voice and was just an average guy. Or so I thought.

At one point, he took me aside and explained to me that he was actually the lead killer of a cult that kills Sesame Street characters, and Elmo was the last on their list. I dunno, apparently Elmo was the baddest mofo of the bunch. Who’d’ve thought? Anyway, Elmo was at the party somewhere, and it was our mission to find and destroy him.

My nameless friend then persuaded me to nearly sever my head off my shoulders, as an initiation ritual to prove that I was true to the cult. I don’t know why I trusted this guy and fell for his evil ploy, but I did. So I actually sat there and allowed him to slice the back of my neck about two centimeters deep, from ear to ear. It wasn’t as pleasant as it sounds.

So I’m lying there, nearly decapitated, while he goes over the plan: I go look for Elmo, buy him a drink (which I will obviously poison with the date rape drug), and bring his unconscious body back to my friend. Together, we will tie him up, wait for him to wake up, and then torture him into giving us information and eventually decapitate him. Decapitation is the signature killing style of my new cult, in case you didn’t get that yet.

Off I went, in search of Elmo. On my way, I encountered many drunken naked people, and I went on a few water slides as well. But my time was running out, because with each step I took, I got weaker and weaker. I was losing so much blood from my neck that it filled the entire hood of my hoodie. Gross. But I had to continue.

After a ride that somewhat resembled Jumeirah Sceira, I rounded a corner and found Elmo, with a heroin needle still in his arm. He was on the verge of unconsciousness. But when he saw me and my neck, he flipped the fuck out. “What has he done to you? Don’t listen to anything he says, it’s all a trick! Get away from me! Run while you still can! Goooo!” Elmo’s voice already creeps me out, but when he’s tripping balls on heroin, it’s even creepier. So I ignored him, and gave him some laced water, which immediately made him pass out. I then schlepped his body all the way back to the base where my friend was waiting.

“Well done, I’m proud of you,” he said to me with an evil half-grin and a killer look in his eye, “Now help me carry him upstairs.” I could no longer stand on my own two feet though. So my friend ended up carrying me on one shoulder and Elmo on the other.

Just as we were about to enter the backdoor of the house, this old red Jeep Grand Cherokee pulls up in the driveway at the front of the house, and the driver does a double take and then immediately slams on the brakes and jumps out of the car, running in our direction. “Fuck, they found us!” my friend said, and quickened his pace up the patio stairs, through the door, and into a closet, which he then locked and bolted.

The dude from the Jeep caught up to us not long after, and started pounding on the door. “Open up, I know you’re in there!” No shit dude, who else would be in a locked closet? Anyway, I asked my friend why this random douschebag was after us, and he informed me that the guy was the dad of one of the little girls he killed a few weeks ago. Apparently, my friend sent a huge bag of poisoned German candy to a fourth grade class, killing everyone who ate a piece (which was, in fact, everyone). And now the dad is rightfully pissed.

“Ron Ron! Open up the door, it’s me, your beautiful princess Ten Ten!” my sister was saying from the other side of the door. “Come on, just unlock it and come out, you won’t get in trouble. Neither will Elmo. Only the bad guy who’s in there with you. Trust me!”

“Don’t trust her, you fool. That’s not really your sister!” my friend was telling me from inside the closet. “It’s a trap! Don’t open the door!” But I felt so bad, and I didn’t want Ten to think I didn’t trust her, so I opened the door. And it was a trap. My sister wasn’t there, it was the douschebag Jeep-driving dad of the dead girl, toting a huge ass rifle. “It’s payback, bitch.” he said in his normal tough-guy voice. And then he cocked the gun and I woke up.


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