Since funemployment, I recently moved out of the delightful shitbox that I formerly called, “home.” It was a hard readjustment and a tearful farewell to all of the things I had gotten so used to: no heat, questionable fire safety, a garbage fridge. But, I have new things to look forward to now. One of these things I was affectionately referring to as “homeless’ing,” where I would delight in staying on friends’ couches.
Since I am the luckiest of ladies, two of my friends granted me a headquarters where I might unpack my cat knickknacks on a less transient basis.
But just like bad credit and scabies follows a person, I have a very special spectral visitor.
No. It can’t be. There is no possible way that this can what I think it is. Because what I think it is a misplaced crock pot filled with poisonous old food. I remember something like this; something dark, and evil, and filled with some sort of chili…
My trash-fridge is my own personal version of a Stephen King novel. Because upon closer inspection it seems like trash-fridge chili is following me. Haunting me…
I might have created a sentient being in trash-fridge. And I feel like I’m not paranoid in saying that the ghost of it is trying to murder me. IT’S THE CHILI OF THE UNDEAD!
Happy Halloween, all!