Okay, my parents are CREEPERS (note the high-pitched and slightly strangled way that this is uttered in my head...). I cannot ignore this any longer or I shan't be able to carry on life without carrying a pepper spray in one hand, a tazer gun in the other and robust stock of tranquilizer darts stuffed up a sleeve, and considering the high probability of self-inflicted pain in combination with my unbelievable self-preservation instincts, I've got to stop this. So, here's the story. I suppose I should start with this:
"Hello. My name is Holly and I have severe and irrational crepper-phobia."
Though, after these two doozies, I'm not so sure it's totally uncalled for. Huh, oh god, here we go. So, a few weeks back, you know, when I did my two day running stunt (insert groan) my first creepalicious incident occurred. I suppose I should start my informing you lovely readers that I live in the goddamned Sherlock forest, and sadly, the gloriously handsome Sir Robin Hood is nowhere in sight. And of course, being the incomprehensibly delectable genius that I am, I decided to run just as dusk was falling. Seriously, it was a breath-taking sight, all the pollen glistening and the fields and leafy green trees shrouded in a golden blush, that is, until I see a car...following me. Fucking fantastic. A non-descript, silvery car with the orangest shit lights I've ever seen slowly, every so sluggishly, trailing my non-existent tush. So of course, I'm freaking the hell out. So, I slow down, scanning the deciduous rubble littering the ditch for a sturdy log, preferably with a charming rusty nail driven smack through it. No such luck. Damn, I pant to myself. Any rocks?!? And as soon as I make it a decent distance from the BTK vehicle, the freakish car drives away. Mind you, the serial killer psycho driver didn't back around in a driveway, NO NO, of COURSE not, the creep backs all the way down the road and around the corner, watching me the whole freaking way. After shatting my pants, I actually sprint back home (say wha???). After clambering up the stairs, I flop on my bed, gasping for air like a fish out of water, and out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of orange lights. OH FUCK!!! HE'S COMING TO KILL ME!!! OMG OMG OMG!!! WAIT.
What the hell?
That's my MOM.
...
Holy shit. My mother was the creeper. This, this this this, is SO not okay.
Let's move on, before I end up in a corner in the fetal position rocking back and forth and singing a soothing lullaby softly to myself with a few insane asylum keepers trying to coo me out of the corner with a couple of happy pills.
Next up, my father. Parental units and I got into an argument over money (what a shocker) and my lucrative spending policies (which when you have a stunning 11 dollars to your name is oh-so-damned-outrageous, cripes). So, I take a call outside to our old playhut for a little more privacy and what happens? Yup, CREEPER. I'm sitting, swinging my legs playfully back and forth over the railing ranting about the travesties inflicted upon me by my gene donors and suddenly, shockingly, I see the motion of a tan-ish blur. Snapping my head in the direction of the motion, I see my father's forearm framing the open window of our back room. Subtle dad, subtle. I'm sure Sherlock Holmes wouldn't even be able to pick up on that royally inconspicuous creeping. Jeesh.
I'm hoping somehow my parent's can feel their offspring's scathing eye-roll...this has got to be karmamic retribution for some unfathomable sin I've committed, and last time I checked, my kind of fabulous is far from illegal, I mean, seriously, I am helpless to control the rampant jealously of others at my god-like immenseness.
Hahahahahaha.
...
O.o
What!??! I thought it was a good joke!!
Oh, and by the by, I finished this post at exactly midnight on the 10th of May in the grand year two-thousand ten. However, this damned blog's internal clock seems to be broken to bits, seeing as every friggin' post is supposedly made at 8:something AM. It's really starting to piss me off. Just thought I'd share. :D
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