(A Random Post)

Home Alone: Day One

So my parents are gone. Left, on a jet plane. And they’ve left their beautiful baby boy (that would be me) to fend for myself. Well actually, I got my brother, but that probably makes it worse. It’s only a matter of time before we turn on each other for food and territory. He’s got weight and youth on his side, but I figure I got the edge in skill, speed, and experience – no one’s seen what these eyes of mine have seen. No one has… I predict that only one of us will survive the weekend.

So I figured I’d keep a running journal, in case I don’t make it through the ordeal. That way at least my last moments will be well documented on this blog that no one reads. I’ve decided to use titles for these posts, despite my usual policy against them.

But I’m certainly not going to complain about having the house to ourselves. And whenever he’s out, it’s just me. Here’s a brief list of the benefits of having a house to yourself – and these are just the ones I’ve discovered this evening.

– Open door urination. Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.

– Yelling of random nonsense whenever I feel like it at the top of my lungs. But to be fair, I do this in the car anyway. This includes singing along off key to the radio and cursing at the television. Like “WHAT THE FUCKING HELL!?! Are you goddamn BLIND!?! Are you mentally DEFICIENT!?! Bullshit! BUUUUUUULLSHIIIIIIIIT!!! Fuck that shit, FUCK IT TO FUCKING…uh…FUCK!!! And that’s just for Everybody Loves Raymond. I’m slightly worse with Jays games.

– The opportunity to eat a can of Pringles for dinner. Though this might be a bad thing, I’m not sure yet.

Though I guess there’s some trouble you run into too. For instance…I’ve lost the dustpan. I have no idea how it happened, but it’s just not there under the sink anymore, and I can’t find it in the entire house or the garage. So now I got this big pile of dust in the corner of the kitchen begging to be swept up and dumped. But I can’t do it. I JUST CAN’T DO IT. It might be the lack of sleep talking, but I think it’s calling my name at night. All I know is that it’s going to keep growing and growing while I continue to sweep until I find the dustpan again. And since 90% of house dust is dead human skin, I am completely certain that eventually it will gain sentience and attempt to slaughter me in my sleep, because I neglected it in its youth. I need that dustpan.

Just Day One, and already my life is in peril. Good this ain’t.



Destined to fight the world's evil, The WAMBAG endures massive battles involving impossible stunts, races on horse-pulled carriages, and the desecration of enchanting medieval castles (all done with dizzying computer graphics). Not only does the eye candy keep on coming, the tongue-in-cheek writing and deep Transylvanian accents perfect the film with a dose of dark humor.



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