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Date Posted: 13:23:07 09/11/04 Sat
Author: Karla
Subject: Not Carrots and Celery

It doesn't have a title, it's short, ends abruptly and is rather lame, but I'm posting it anyway. Because I can.

'Oh, gotta see, gotta know right now - what's that riding on your everything?'

---

What you don’t want to find when you walk into your house after being in the wilderness for three months and haven’t showered in three days is a strange dude reading a book in your favourite chair. There’s just really, no positive response you can possibly be expected to give.

“What are you doing in my living room?”

It’s also less than helpful when the very same strange dude looks up blankly from his book and answers your question as though it was not only clearly unnecessary but slightly stupid.

“Reading.”

“No you misunderstand me – I meant that in a much more general sense. As in, what the fuck are you doing in my house?”

“Oh.” Smile. “I live here.”

Flagrant and rather alarming lies are no more welcome than the previously catalogued behavior.

“You live here.”

Enthusiastic nods are another no-no.

“Yeah.”

There can be no recourse but squinting.

“This seems unlikely.”

“How so?”

“This is MY house. *I* live here – and I don’t know who the hell you are.”

“Wait, are you Adolfus?”

“Yes. I am. Why is it that you know that?”

There is where you begin to suspect that this person has not only invaded the sanctity of your favourite chair, but that they may very well have also tortured your family for information and inevitably killed them and buried them in your back yard.

“Well, it’s like I told you – I live here now. And, you know, the living here lends itself towards knowing stuff. Such as the knowledge of the existence of the middle son, missing at present due to camp related circumstances.”

“You are very in the know.”

You wonder, how subtly can I reach for my pocket knife? Will one blow from the small statue on the mantle piece be enough to subdue him?

“Thank-you. I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

I will make you cry.

“The part I’m still having trouble with here is that *I* - who we have established do in fact live here – have never heard of you.”

“But you parents told you all about me in their letters!”

“They really didn’t.”

They never even cried for help.

“Sure they did! They showed me drafts.”

I bet you proof read everything before you let them send them. How long have you been here you bastard?!

“Really not getting it.”

“I’m Steven!”

“Good god! I thought you were a cat!”

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