I'm at the halfway point of finishing the A-Z blog challenge. Completed: A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, M, O. Not Completed: L, N, P, Q, R, S, T, V, W, X, Y, Z.
I know, pathetic, right? Everybody else has finished and here I sit, May 15th. Thirteen letters remaining.
It's not about me though. I am doing this for Jenny & Mynx. I have confidence in my ability to see this through, so much confidence in fact, that I am going to enter Blog Idol '11. How about that? You think that I am pathetic now, just wait until that rolls around. The very definition of "pathetic" will need to be amended by Merriam and Webster to accommodate a space for my name. Damn, it feels good to be a gangsta.
Under normal circumstances, auctions are a good thing, right? The people that are selling, make a little dough and free up a ton of space. The buyer finally finds and purchases some oddity that he/she has been looking for for years. (Cheaply, as is the case most often) And alas, everybody walks away happy.
Under NORMAL circumstances.
Now, picture this scene. You walk into the auction house to find armed FBI agents crowding the room. On stage, the auctioneer and staff look "edgy". You notice the first lot of items that are to be bid on. Thinking to yourself, you pose a question. "Why the hell would somebody bid on an empty box of Tide?" As your eyes move from item to item, you become aware of a strange man sitting in the front row and his friend sitting next to him. You think to yourself, "those cats are creepy looking as hell" so, instead of forging toward the front, you find a nice, comfy seat towards the back.
A few minutes pass and as you study the order of events, a wispy voice breaks your concentration and inquires if the seat next to yours is being occupied. You say no and invite him to sit. As he settles into his chair, you are overwhelmed with the scent of gasoline and bleach. So, you peak at your new neighbor, using peripheral vision, and find that he also, looks shady. W.T.H? So, you stand up and inform him that you need a cup of coffee, knowing full well, that you are not going to go back and sit next him again. So, there you are, stirring sugar into your coffee, and it finally hits home. You scan those in attendance and find that all of them, men and women alike, look as if someone had stolen their right to breathe. Your curiosity gets the better of you, so you decide to make your way up to the display tables to check out the description that sits on a placard in front of that damned, empty box of Tide.
With the empty box of Tide, you find laying next to it, an odd black thing, a tap set, miscellaneous accessories for an acetylene torch and a ruler with a sticker that states, Property of F.B.I.
An uneasy feeling begins to creep down your spine. Becoming frantic, you move to the next table and find the following items:
Vans Shoes, complete with modified soles.
Slightly used arrows. Bow not included.
Degrees from Harvard & U. of Michigan
Strange. F.B.I. rulers, degree's, a pair of old crappy shoes?
The auctioneer breaks the silence, as he slams his mallet onto his stand.
"Please, take your seats, as we will be starting the auction for Mr. Ted Kaczynski's things, momentarily.
The Unabomber, Ted Kaczynski ?
A tattered but stylish gray hoodie.
Going Once, Going Twice, Sold, To The Suspicious Looking Man In The Back
"Let us pray that the human race never escapes earth to spread it's iniquity elsewhere." - C.S. Lewis