Archive for the ‘weird’ Category.

Emergency Background Music

Haven’t posted in ages. I’ve had tons of things to say, but no time to say it. No free time to post at work, and I’m usually not even on the computer at home any more. Too much to do to get ready for the baby.

Anyway, I did have a thought today while reading a message board with people talking about scary movie clichés:

Psst. It is safe to check out noises in the basement at night with your flashlight, unless you go down there in nothing but your underwear. That is when the psycho will get you every time.

Oh, and check for background music. If you hear creepy background music run away. Run AWAY!

I thought, you know how they have emergency lights? They have a battery, and when the power goes out, they light up the joint? Get some emergency background music.

If the light on the basement stairs goes out, it’ll automatically play eerie music to alert you to the danger.

What’s worse than biting into an apple and finding a worm?

Me: What’s worse than biting into an apple and finding a worm?

Wife: Uh–

Me: Crib death.

Wife: Aw, that’s sad.

Me: Well, you can always buy a new crib.

Wife: Imagine, walking into the nursery and finding your baby in a dead crib.

Misusing Parental Authority for Private Jokes

You know what I think would be fun to do? When my daughter is a little girl, say about 4 years old, I want to take her to Golden Gate National Cemetary. We’ll visit a grave site and I’ll introduce her to her great-uncle. We’ll visit it every month, and I’ll tell her touching stories of his brave deeds in the war, and how he used to give me caramel apples when I was a kid, and how much I still miss him. It’s a shame you never knew him, you know.

Every month, for years, and extra trips on holidays and his birthday. She’ll grow to love her poor old great-uncle.

Then, when she’s about 13, I’ll tell her the truth: that I have no idea who the guy is that’s buried under there, that I made up all the stories or cribbed them from the 40’s pulps, and that I don’t even like caramel apples.

And when, amidst her tears, she demands to know why, I’ll make up something about how it really had a noble purpose or taught a good lesson, in an attempt to weasel out of it.

Okay. I would never do this. But wow, isn’t it a sick mind that even thinks of things like this?