Like Having a Gun To My Head....Well, not really anything like that.

Holy Industrial Soaps Batman!
I slipped really badly at work today on a puddle of water and soap that spilled out of my mop bucket.
Mop Bucket. Say that a few times to yourself. It's delightful. Don't forget to annunciate now. Diction is key.

UGH, Carter is making me post this nonsense blog post. So with nothing to say, no stories of Shrimp Shackdom with which to regale you, my loving audience, I will speculate.

And speculate he did, for about 10 minutes, to no avail.

There's a bug in the bed. Holy Fuck. It was just in my hair. Holy fucking... oh shit where did it go. UhhHHHHH. I hate this. This was worse than the battic. Ah, the battic. Let me tell you a story.

For a little over a month, I squatted in my Lena and Lucas' house. Living in the attic and not paying rent. The deal was that I pack it up, which I did (but not as much as lucas) and that I coexist peacefully with the bat that lived in the attic.

Funny story, the bat didn't agree. I spent the next month living in complete fear of getting into bed at night. I would creep up the stairs and go to my room. it was dark and there was only one bare bulb in the room, which I would turn on once I got into the room. I covered it eventually with a lampshade which cast the most sinister orange-red glow everywhere. Then I would freak out when I turned around and saw an enormous poster of Peter Pan leering at me. I can't find a picture of this poster but it was about 6'x'5' and had Peter Pan with a candle light shadow and a little grin on his face. ugh i can' t really even think about it now. That shit freaked me out. So after jumping like a strung out Cap'n Hook at the sight of Pan, I would move to the bed to try and get it. I say try because on occasion it would take me many attempts. Imagine for yourself. You're crawling into bed. And the covers are at the bottom of the bed. So you sit at the top and proceed to put your legs under the covers at the bottom of the bed. All rumpled up. Dark. Can't see what's under it. Feeling around with your feet. Could be a BAT! OH MY GOD GO GET OUT OH OHSHIT OH ok.. no bat. I can sleep tonight.

Now imagine going through that, every night. At one point I threw "good ol' Peter" down the fucking stairs.. served him right.

This story has a happy ending. The bat and I eventually became friends. He would come downstairs and fly around the house during parties. Which, by the way, was awesome. A room full of drunk kids don't really expect, dare I say know how to deal with a bat flying at face level in circles through the dining room. Endless fun. Soon we learned how, through the use of brooms and my limited experience as a lacrosse goalie, how to get him back in the battic. Where he and I would peacefully sleep next door to each other. Waiting to hear which one would masturbate first.

And that kids, is the story of the battic.

And now, this bear wants to know a few things. And you'd better have some answers. Oh yes, you better.