Bad Omens: Monday Edition
NOTE: Herewith, a list of all the bad omens that I encountered this morning, thanks entirely to my mythic powers of perception. The day hasn't fallen apart in an orgy of chaos and destruction just yet but, given the signs I've already witnessed, I can see no other way for this Monday to end...
-On the train this morning, an old man pointed at me with a gnarled hand and whispered, "hell is for sinners like you." True, I'd just stolen his newspaper, his seat, and his old-man hat, but still. Not the best way to start the day.
-The first song I heard on the radio this morning was Gordon Lightfoot's immortal classic, "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald." Immediately following the song's conclusion, the Edmund Fitzgerald crashed on 34th St. There were no survivors, or at least not any that will ever again be able to appear in public without the aide of facial prosthetics and a sturdy cane.
-I saw a man dressed in the robes of a monk release a dozen white doves into the air. The doves exploded, raining down gore upon the monk's bald head. And then he cried. And then he exploded. And then I stubbed my toe on a piece of an uneven sidewalk. Which then exploded.
-I bought a package of gum from a newsstand and, upon inspection, found that in my haste to get to work, I'd failed to grab the spearmint flavored variety that I desired. Instead, it seems I'd grabbed the owner of the newsstand's mustache and then subsequently dragged him the five blocks to my office. This would have been a fine, easily laughed-off misunderstanding except that the newsstand owner, at some point during the dragging, developed a powerful case of Stockholm Syndrome. Now he won't leave my cubicle and I've got work to do, dammit!
-I saw the Devil on 7th Avenue, arguing over the price of some cheap sunglasses at a souvenir shop. That's all that happened, but really... that can't be good.
-On the train this morning, an old man pointed at me with a gnarled hand and whispered, "hell is for sinners like you." True, I'd just stolen his newspaper, his seat, and his old-man hat, but still. Not the best way to start the day.
-The first song I heard on the radio this morning was Gordon Lightfoot's immortal classic, "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald." Immediately following the song's conclusion, the Edmund Fitzgerald crashed on 34th St. There were no survivors, or at least not any that will ever again be able to appear in public without the aide of facial prosthetics and a sturdy cane.
-I saw a man dressed in the robes of a monk release a dozen white doves into the air. The doves exploded, raining down gore upon the monk's bald head. And then he cried. And then he exploded. And then I stubbed my toe on a piece of an uneven sidewalk. Which then exploded.
-I bought a package of gum from a newsstand and, upon inspection, found that in my haste to get to work, I'd failed to grab the spearmint flavored variety that I desired. Instead, it seems I'd grabbed the owner of the newsstand's mustache and then subsequently dragged him the five blocks to my office. This would have been a fine, easily laughed-off misunderstanding except that the newsstand owner, at some point during the dragging, developed a powerful case of Stockholm Syndrome. Now he won't leave my cubicle and I've got work to do, dammit!
-I saw the Devil on 7th Avenue, arguing over the price of some cheap sunglasses at a souvenir shop. That's all that happened, but really... that can't be good.
posted by Clinton at 1:30 PM
1 Comments:
Can we add to the list that my Launchcast radio station just played Cake's "Satan is my Motor"? OoooOOOOOOOOOOoooooO!
(not really spooky, but it's a kickass song though :))
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