There’s been a snag in the sale of my place. I received a nice offer, but then the buyer conducted a home inspection that revealed something behind one of the bathroom walls.
“What is it?” I asked my realtor.
“It appears to be a monster.”
“WHAT?”
“Yes, there’s a monster behind one of your bathroom walls.”
“What kind of monster?”
“Well, the inspector thinks it resembles that beast that tagged Luke Skywalker across the face in The Empire Strikes Back.”
“You mean a Wampa?”
“.........how did you know the actual name?”
“Never mind that. Look, there isn’t a Wampa hiding behind my bathroom wall.”
He shrugged. “The inspection shows otherwise. We’ll have to kill it with a lightsaber. You and the buyer will have to split the costs.”
“I don’t have a lightsaber.”
“Hmm, that means we’ll have to kill it with a balpeen hammer. That will increase the cost.”
“God damn it!”
Well, okay, apparently the inspection actually revealed “a high level of humidity, possibly indicating mold,” rather than a Wampa. But seriously, it might have well been a Wampa. There is no mold in my goddamn place. Except maybe when I forget to clean out my refrigerator sometimes.
Considering the size of my collection, there must be a lightsaber in there somewhere. I’ll look.
I really wish you had a Wampa in your bathroom wall. You should look into smuggling one into your next home.
Aw, man. I’m sorry about the Wampa. It seems like it would be too warm in CA in the summer to get it going; don’t Wampas like to live in little snow dens and hang their victims upside down like stalactites from the ceiling? Maybe all you need is a nice tropical breeze to drive it away.
Dear Greg,
You know I have always stood by you. Remember back in August 2004, when you had Pac-man fever? I was there. And the Story-boarding scandal of December 2007? I knew you would never knowingly condone such behavior. Lately, however, I have gotten this sneaking suspicion that you have gone out and gotten yourself…a life.
I know you didn’t mean to. Hey, none of us thought this kind of thing would happen to you. Really. I’m not trying to point fingers, it’s just that you’ve been so…distant, lately. No humorous posts about your move. No more wacky conversations with neighbors and co-workers rife with pop cultural sub-text. Perhaps if you changed the name of your blog to “Geese Occasionally” or “Goose sporadically?” OK that last one might bring you some unwanted attention, but I’m talking about facing up to the truth here.
I’m sorry, but all of the books say it. It’s time for some tough love. If you can’t start focusing on those things that are really important and stop living in the real world—I’m just going to have to go back to the mommy bloggers and second-rate icanhascheesburger enthusiasts. You have left me no choice.
Before you fade away into this new, physically-based, life that you have chosen, I urge you to think about us, your readers…and Papa Goose. What is he to do now? Are you going to leave him to wander through the dark dungeons of the internet without you? I know you don’t want that on your conscience.
If you’re committed, I know we can get through this. All of us. Just remember: it works if you work it.
-Janine
Janine, awesome comment. Thanks for that.
I’m occasionally tweeting at http://www.twitter.com/greglhoward as well.
And my thanks too, Janine. I’m glad somebody is looking out for me (sob!)
The inspection shows otherwise. We’ll have to kill it with a lightsaber. You and the buyer will have to split the costs.
Right now I’m jedi mind tricking you into writing another post.