Paranoia Is Settling In . . .

I think my chair is out to get me . . .

Yes, my chair. Let me explain, before ya'll get "high and mighty" and go and have me put in some sorta crazy man jail where the chair can't get me. I'm not that stupid or mentally-insufficient or what-have-you. Sheesh.

You see, I was watching TV. Nothing was on, so I was flipping through the channels. As I took a moment to notice the amazing definition in my thumbs from all my surfing, I came to a stop on the ABC Family Channel. Normally, the only time I would even give ABC Family the slightest bit of attention is if an episode of Whose Line Is It Anyway? was on. However, that show will soon be coming out on DVD, and as soon as it becomes a part of my library, ABC Family can go straight to hell. But on this day, I stopped. Why? Because Full House was on.

Not just any episode. A "Kimmy Gibbler" episode.

OK. A little Kimmy Gibbler history. She is the oldest daughter's, DJ, best friend. Kimmy is a little "out-there" in that she wears funky 80s clothes, makes b ad jokes and was skinny as a pole. And there is something about her that makes the rest of DJ's family hate her guts. I've never picked up on it, but it's there. The Tanner family hates her, and wouldn't blow a wad of snot on her if she were engulfed in flames. Really. Here is what went on in this episode.

Kimmy: Hola, Tannerinos!
Danny Tanner: Oh f*ck, it's Kimmy.
Michelle: I hope you die in a violent car wreck, b*tch.
Uncle Jesse: (Grabs Kimmy by the arms, holding them behind her back.) I got the little c*m dumpster!
Stephanie: (Stabs Kimmy in neck with a ballpoint pen.) Nice knowing you, d*ke!

I just don't get it. She wasn't anymore annoying then any of the other girls on the show. She was at least as attractive as any of the other women on the show. I'm willing to bet- if they ever do any sort of reunion show with Full House- they'll kill Gibbler off in some sort of murder-suicide-anal rape storyline with Joey Gladstone. Seriously, how could they hate Kimmy more then Joey? He was a 30-something single man who seemed to have no interest in women outside the three in-no-way legal girls in the house, and always spoke in creepy cartoon-character voices. He barely held a job for longer then a season, slept in their living room, and received head from Alanis Morrisette in a movie theater! (Allegedly.) 

Anyway, I was pondering all of this when I decided to make myself a milk shake. A strawberry and banana milk shake. So I got up, put the strawyberries and milk and ice cream into the blender. I grabbed the banana, looked it square in the eyes, and said, "Damn you banana." And I laughed. It was clever, I'm modest enough to admit it. I'm damn funny. So I blended the hell out of that banana, strawberry, and whatever else I could. Then I turned back around to sit back in the living room and watch the Tanner Family mentally abuse that Kimmy once again.

Then it happened. My chair . . . and I can't even call it "my" chair. Our realtor left it after an Open House," so I kept it. It became mine. In any case, I went back into the living room, and . . . oh crap. My chair is right over my shoulder. Just act natural.

Do do do . . .

Is it gone?

Nope?

Son of a bitch. I may be paranoid about this chair trying to ruin me and my wife's and unborn child's lives, but this chair is so paranoid about me trying to ruin its reputation as a "nice guy" I can't a moment alone. It's there in the morning when I wake up at the foot of my bed, it's in the shower washing my back, and it's at every corner on my way to work. I know- I KNOW- that it will stop at nothing to end me. But I'm not able to tell anyone because it's always here.

I need a drink.

I'll keep you posted.

Wooooooooooooooooooolhouse