Before the Thriller rehearsal tonight, Shan and I went to Wendy’s for dinner (we are classy but poor). As we were finishing up, I noticed a woman in the parking lot carrying a huge painting – it was enormous; probably 5 feet by 6 feet. Just then, a mini van taxi pulled into the lot beside the woman and her painting. The cab driver got out, and they spoke. The woman then put the painting into the back of the cab.

I pointed this out to Shan, and said (in my best imitation of what I assume a rich person sounds like) “Ooh, look at me! I’m a fancy lady, I buy taxi rides for my ART!”. We had a chuckle at my witty observation, and prepared to leave the restaurant.

Back at our scooters, I saw the cab pull out of the parking lot with the art in the back seat. I assumed the woman had walked around the cab and was in the passenger seat, but no – the cab pulled away, and she darted across the street and climbed into a silver car and drove away on her own.

The cab WAS just for the art.

Rich people are hilarious!

There are few things more terrifying than looking up and seeing the decayed, shambling form of a zombie Mon Calamari staring at you with watery dagger eyes from the window. It may, in fact, be a trap – but HE’S the one who set it. Darth Lola sprang to life just in time, and we sped away from the evil that was emanating from the window. Had I met his gaze, I am certain I would have been unable to move until it was too late – I’d be frozen in place until Admiral Andy shuffled down to his Toyota and ran me over with extreme prejudice.

I should have known I would encounter something eerie and unholy sooner or later, as the omens have been coming with alarming frequency to the point where I – normally the most unobservant of individuals – noticed that something was not quite right. The broken mirror. The black cat that continually crossed my path. The blood dripping from the ceiling and pooling on the linoleum, spelling out “redrum” and “never forget” with what looked like a dinosaur. The tidal wave of blood that came to a halt in front of spooky dead twins. I’m a man of science, so I could easily explain these away: the mirror broke because I am a klutz; the black cat is Cheddar; I’m a lousy housekeeper and you really SHOULD never forget the dinosaurs; the dead twins were actually escaped cosplayers from the anime convention that was in town a few weeks ago. What’s to fear when you have science on your side? Nothing.

This latest development, though – I don’t think I can ignore the signs any longer. The Admiral is coming for me, and no amount of grinding will increase my Disarm Trap skill enough for me to get away.

While I don’t necessarily miss the 37C weather of last week, this abrupt 180 isn’t quite right either. I had to wear a jacket this morning, and socks. I was actually cold on my ride in – I almost needed gloves. GLOVES! In AUGUST! Disgusting.

Bacon will make me feel better, though.