HOT LESBIAN ACTION!!!

DISCLAIMER: THIS NEWS POST CONTAINS GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF UNEASE. IT IS NOT RECOMMENDED FOR YOUNG CHILDREN.

Don't do what I did.

So, here I am up at my country house in South "no-one-knows-where-the-fuck-it-is" Salem, Westchester. It's around 6:30 and getting dark out, and I decide I want to go outside and get a little exercise before the sun is completely gone. Great, exercise, a little jog!

What I didn't realize is how fucking hardwired is a man's impulse to flee darkness. When I stepped outside I realized that there was probably enough accumulated light to illuminate a small closet, which is to say, very little. I could still see, sure, but if I were attacked by an even moderately stealthy woodchuck I'd probably never have seen it coming. Which isn't too much of a problem, considering the general lack of woodchucks in the area, but you get the point.

Across from my house's driveway is a one car garage. It was illuminated by a foreboding, orange light, and its eight square windows stared at me like the eyes of a gigantic, hungry arachnid.

Ignoring this unpleasant image, I decided to go on a short jog to the end of the road and back, because our house is on a dead-end road and to jog to the end is a pretty short distance. I started jogging, straining slightly to see through the encroaching darkness, and feeling the wind chill me through my wool sweater. All around me were the sounds of crickets and cicadas.

You see, I had miscalculated here. Apparently, running makes me more afraid of being painfully devoured or axe-murdered. By the very virtue of the fact that I'm running, I begin to believe that I am in fact, being chased. Try it some time; it's awesome.

So I stopped running and began walking. Even though this made the trip much longer, it seemed better. As I walked along the road, house lights glowed eerily. I walked past one house that emitted a loud, humming noise, which I have been completely unable to account for. Further on was a shiny new SUV with its inside lights on. Its top-mounted carrier gleamed menacingly like an obsidian torpedo ready to launch. I quickened my pace.

I tried to reason with myself. There was no one in this neighborhood likely to kill me. There had been no reports of maulings recently. And I plainly had the odds in my favor, seeing as no one had ever been violently murdered in my area, and I decided I would not be the one to set that sort of precedent.

Finally, I reached the end of the road, my heart rate at an unreasonably accelerated pace. But I began to relax knowing I wouldn't see anything new on the way back. I walked calmly home, and began to regain my composure. Far off in the distance, I actually heard a dog howl. But it could do nothing, I had conquered my fears.

And then suddenly, a man burst from the bushes, charging at me with the very same tomahawk I had seen in the Natural History Museum. Apparently I had tread to heavily on the old Indian burial grounds, and the spirits were out for blood!

Well, that didn't really happen, but the story really needed a climax. Anyway, my point is that despite humanity's technology and conveniences, we are just as frightened, if not much more so, by the things that made our prehistoric ancestors cringe and cling to each other in their caves. So let that be a lesson to you: if the Natural History Museum tour guide has lost your attention, don't show it; you never know who he might be!


Nicky

MY E-MAIL! Okayeahwhatever@yahoo.com.
AIM: Jake Aimer