[Monty Burns] Smithers, release the hounds… [/Monty Burns]
Coldie - I was taking a jab at Wally, but your version makes much better sense!
Some even obtain an unnatural HATE for soccer.
Forget the hounds. The dogs we have in the Pit have bees in their mouth and when they bark they shoot bees.
The robotic Richard Simmons is in the shop.
Wow. That isn’t just a run-of-the-mill Simpsons reference, that was a Simpsons outtake reference. Alpha, you truly have the “Dennis Miller” gene.
Hey, you can even buy alien abduction insurance nowadays. One guy actually won a suit for a couple million dollars for a “saucer” that fell from the sky and knocked him unconscious for a couple of hours.
Well, it looks like a neat little discussion got sidetracked here last week. I hope no one objects if I try to pull things back on track…
I was sleeping when (oh, my apologies to obfusciatrist, but please bear with me) I woke tense and nervous. My bedroom was painted with an odd, bluish light, and my nervousness deepened into fear. I couldn’t move. Not a muscle. And worse, I somehow knew that I shouldn’t move. Instinctively aware of the very worst, I glanced at the door to my bedroom (okay, those muscles could move), and watched as the doorknob twisted and the door pushed slowly open. Long, almost reptilian fingers curled around the side of the door and the frame and three classical greys crept into the room.
This whole thing felt startlingly real. Nothing in my room appeared out of place. The light and my visitors were the only thing that felt wrong.
After surveying my room, the gaze of the creepy little buggers settled on me and they began to walk quite purposefully up to my bed.
Now this is where things start to get better for obfusciatrist. When I was a pup, I used to be plagued by terrifying nightmares. Most kids just “grow out of them”, but I learned how to manipulate them. So instead of being a source of terror, they started to become entertainment. And if I didn’t like a dream, I learned early on how to just pull the plug and force myself awake. In later years, this translated into an ability to overcome sleep paralysis, and anytime I became aware of my inability to move while dreaming, I could concentrate and start moving, usually jarring myself awake while crashing into whatever detritus I’d left laying around my bed.
So here was this hapless cluster of aliens at the foot of my bed, all confident and assured that they had another victim ready for grotesque experiments back at the saucer, when suddenly I yanked out that old dreaming tool, lept up out of bed and hurled myself at the lead grey, fingers stretched to wring his (her? its?) inhuman neck, roaring at the top of my lungs, “Leave me ALONE!”
Whereupon I suddenly found myself crashing to a deserted floor, in a normally darkened room, the bedroom door still tightly shut. And the whole apartment echoing with my shout.
Now at this point, I knew I had been dreaming. But as I picked myself up off the floor and untangled the bedsheets, I was struck by how real the dream had felt. I was convinced it had been real at the time. Had I not flung myself awake, or had I drifted off into a dreamless sleep after that, that dream might have made me start looking for other signs that I had been abducted.
The greys have left me alone ever since. So has the cat and the neighbors.