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Nov. 3rd, 2009 06:47 pmSo let's say you, good citizens of Chicago, were escorting folks to the JCC throught the suspiciously misnamed Plague of Darkness so as to avoid that pesky "death of the firstborn" thing the following day. Let's say that sometime around midmorning, you give your only cans of mace to a single mother who's worried about these things and duck back to your apartment to grab some more for yourself.
Let's say that you get in around 11:56, decide to grab a quick drink of water and a different sweater, and then end up turning around and seeing a re-enactment of Dark City out your window, while all the plaster in your apartment snaps, crackles, and voids your security deposit.
Let us then assume, citizens, that you head for the door only to find that it's CHAINED FUCKING SHUT.
AT THIS POINT, CITIZENS OF CHICAGO, IF YOUR RESPONSE IS TO DIVE FOR THE CROWBAR – YOU HAVE A CROWBAR, DON'T YOU, CITIZENS? EVERY WELL-STOCKED CHICAGO HOME SHOULD, IF ONLY BECAUSE YOU'RE IN CHICAGO, AND THIS SORT OF ВЗДОР IS TO BE EXPECTED, AND TRY TO GET THOSE CHAINS OFF, YOUR RESPONSE WOULD HAVE BEEN VERY SIMILAR TO MINE. IF, UPON FINDING THAT THEY'LL BUDGE ABOUT AS MUCH AS THE BLARNY STONE LEVERED WITH BEAVER GUTS, YOU MIGHT BE TEMPTED TO TRY TO BREAK DOWN THE DOOR, OR BREAK THE WINDOWS, OR PERHAPS TRY TO BUST THROUGH THE DRYWALL.
ASSUMING THAT NONE OF THAT WORKS, AND ALSO ASSUMING YOU HAVE YELLED FOR HELP FROM ANYONE YOU SAW WALKING PAST YOUR PEEPHOLE OR HEARD IN THE NEXT APARTMENT OVER, AND ASSUMING THEY ALL LISTEN TO YOU ABOUT AS MUCH AS AN OFFENDED CAT, YOU MAY FIND YOURSELF IN A DILEMMA VERY SIMILAR TO MINE, WHICH I NOW PRESENT TO YOU AS AN EXERCISE, MY FELLOW CITIZENS:
DO YOU OR DO YOU NOT CLIMB THROUGH THE HOLE IN YOUR BATHROOM WALL INTO THE DARK DANK TUNNEL WHICH, ACCORDING TO FLASHLIGHTS, SEEMS TO HAVE NO END, AND WHICH ECHOES EERILY WITH SCREAMS AND ANIMALISTIC GROWLING?
I EAGERLY AWAIT YOUR ADVICE.
...if I am stuck in here tomorrow and Chicago decides that, yes, Sudden Firstborn Death Syndrome really is the thing to do, I would like it known that Toshiko Sato, assuming she's still alive, gets my movie collection, and Desmond Descant, assuming he's still alive, gets the guitar which UPS was to deliver on Friday but which has probably been delayed due to unavoidable bad weather and Biblical plagues, and Dante, assuming he's still alive, gets all of my various self-defense accoutrements, and the Doctor, who had better be alive, gets curatorship of all of my writings, except for the essay collection I'm doing on these plagues, which will be in a postage-paid package on my desk ready to be sent out to the Angel of Knowledge Board of the Sciences as soon as the United States Postal Service services this area of the state again, and Babel, I would offer you all the snacks and ice cream in my fridge, except that now I can't find any of it except a jug of chocolate milk and a bottle of white wine, which, should you be interested, you are welcome to.
This is Dmitri Lang, your one-stop-shop for Chicago flavor, trying REALLY FUCKING HARD not to sign off.
~ 義
Let's say that you get in around 11:56, decide to grab a quick drink of water and a different sweater, and then end up turning around and seeing a re-enactment of Dark City out your window, while all the plaster in your apartment snaps, crackles, and voids your security deposit.
Let us then assume, citizens, that you head for the door only to find that it's CHAINED FUCKING SHUT.
AT THIS POINT, CITIZENS OF CHICAGO, IF YOUR RESPONSE IS TO DIVE FOR THE CROWBAR – YOU HAVE A CROWBAR, DON'T YOU, CITIZENS? EVERY WELL-STOCKED CHICAGO HOME SHOULD, IF ONLY BECAUSE YOU'RE IN CHICAGO, AND THIS SORT OF ВЗДОР IS TO BE EXPECTED, AND TRY TO GET THOSE CHAINS OFF, YOUR RESPONSE WOULD HAVE BEEN VERY SIMILAR TO MINE. IF, UPON FINDING THAT THEY'LL BUDGE ABOUT AS MUCH AS THE BLARNY STONE LEVERED WITH BEAVER GUTS, YOU MIGHT BE TEMPTED TO TRY TO BREAK DOWN THE DOOR, OR BREAK THE WINDOWS, OR PERHAPS TRY TO BUST THROUGH THE DRYWALL.
ASSUMING THAT NONE OF THAT WORKS, AND ALSO ASSUMING YOU HAVE YELLED FOR HELP FROM ANYONE YOU SAW WALKING PAST YOUR PEEPHOLE OR HEARD IN THE NEXT APARTMENT OVER, AND ASSUMING THEY ALL LISTEN TO YOU ABOUT AS MUCH AS AN OFFENDED CAT, YOU MAY FIND YOURSELF IN A DILEMMA VERY SIMILAR TO MINE, WHICH I NOW PRESENT TO YOU AS AN EXERCISE, MY FELLOW CITIZENS:
DO YOU OR DO YOU NOT CLIMB THROUGH THE HOLE IN YOUR BATHROOM WALL INTO THE DARK DANK TUNNEL WHICH, ACCORDING TO FLASHLIGHTS, SEEMS TO HAVE NO END, AND WHICH ECHOES EERILY WITH SCREAMS AND ANIMALISTIC GROWLING?
I EAGERLY AWAIT YOUR ADVICE.
...if I am stuck in here tomorrow and Chicago decides that, yes, Sudden Firstborn Death Syndrome really is the thing to do, I would like it known that Toshiko Sato, assuming she's still alive, gets my movie collection, and Desmond Descant, assuming he's still alive, gets the guitar which UPS was to deliver on Friday but which has probably been delayed due to unavoidable bad weather and Biblical plagues, and Dante, assuming he's still alive, gets all of my various self-defense accoutrements, and the Doctor, who had better be alive, gets curatorship of all of my writings, except for the essay collection I'm doing on these plagues, which will be in a postage-paid package on my desk ready to be sent out to the Angel of Knowledge Board of the Sciences as soon as the United States Postal Service services this area of the state again, and Babel, I would offer you all the snacks and ice cream in my fridge, except that now I can't find any of it except a jug of chocolate milk and a bottle of white wine, which, should you be interested, you are welcome to.
This is Dmitri Lang, your one-stop-shop for Chicago flavor, trying REALLY FUCKING HARD not to sign off.
~ 義
