soul-bearing sunglasses

Due to circumstances I won't elaborate on in order to spare you from inevitable boredom, I wasn't exactly feeling up to attending the halls of learning yesterday morning. I slept an additional five hours or so, thanks to the drugs my mom supplied me with. Nothing like having your own parent push a cabinet full of meds.

Staying home from school has long since lost its novelty, now that the only television shows on during the day include middle-aged men dressed in horizontal stripes prancing around with mythical blue dogs with mythical blue spots, talking salt and pepper shakers, and singing buckets.

Instead, I took two vaguely entertaining and severely frightening tests.

Via Ripe Tomato, I discovered, much to my surprise, that The Spark actually came out with new tests instead of turning into some concession stand catering to disorganized college students and the romantically challenged.

The results are depicted here, for your viewing pleasure.

According to the second test...

'You and Kurt Cobain are a match made in heaven! You're both very creative people, and have put your creative juices to the test writing music or the occasional painting. You love a guy that isn't afraid to be himself, and both enjoy hanging out with good friends and checking out local bands.'

The alarming aspect of the above quote is the way they speak as if Kurt Cobain is still alive. Heh, yeah, we're 'a match made in heaven' all right -- considering the man is dead.

How happy does that make me? Not very.

You know what else is alarming? Those fucking sunglasses! It reminds me of something, and that something is not particularly comforting.

I'm sure everyone has seen one of those depressingly corny movies (yeah, Scream was my first thought, too) where the murderer always wears a certain ensemble whenever he goes out to collect a carcass. Or when he tries to collect one, at least.

In this case, we have to adjust the motives. To what, you ask? Gang raping for points. The sunglasses are just so there, their presence so overwhelming that when the victim reports the rapist to the police, the result is this:

Fade in. A police officer attempts rather unsuccessfully to calm down a recent rape victim.

'Calm down, Ma'am,' he says reassuringly. 'Can you perhaps describe to us what he looked like?'

The woman is rather distressed, but manages to collect her thoughts. Her brows furrow in puzzlement as she searches for an adequate description. Eventually, although hesitantly, she speaks: 'Uh, well, not exactly -- but there were sunglasses!' She pauses to mimic eyeglases with her hands. 'Big fucking sunglasses! Scared the hell out of me!'

The police officer stares blankly at the woman for a brief moment. Slowly and deliberately, he declares, 'I see.' He then turns to an associate at his side, a younger officer who appears to be an intern of sorts.

'The clowns have abandon the circus. I repeat, the clowns have abandon the circus,' he mutters urgently to the juvenile officer. 'Summon the peanut salesmen to take custody of the human cannonball.' The officer nods in response and slips out of the room as the presiding officer continues murmuring flimsy assurances to the woman. Fade out.

Hah! Doesn't sound so out in the boonies anymore, does it?

I think you should be worried when my observations begin making sense.

Yeah, that's what happens when you join both the 'i am insane' ring and the 'those who observe' ring. (All of the rings I belong to are listed here. If you happen to care, that is.)

With that said, I leave you with this thought:

Stop, look, and listen
before you cross the street!
Use your eyes,
use your ears,
and then use your feet!

Just for you, koishii.

For those of you out of the loop -- trust me, you're better off there.