That in itself is not too unusual. Usually I locate said dead thing and remove it. However the latest dead thing is proving to be elusive. I first noticed the smell yesterday when I got home. It was not too bad, but I wanted to find out what was causing it. It was a strange elusive dead smell, I seemed to smell it the most when I pass through the doorway from my dining room to the kitchen. All would be fine but then I would catch a gut wrenching stench. I spent a while last night trying to follow my nose, wandering around my house sniffing furiously, however once I though I was getting close to it the smell would suddenly evaporate.
I moved furniture out of the way, peeked under cabinates, inside drawers and so on to no avail. I finally gave up and went to bed. This morning when I got out fo the shower and had my senses freshly scrubbed, I once again wandered around trying to track down the smell. It's quite horrid. Once again I could not find anything. I started to wonder if perhaps there is something dead under my house. I had not seen the sickly limpy cat in a while, now I am starting to fear it might have died under my house. Tonight I am going to have to poke my head under there. If there is indeed a rotting corpse under my house, it's not going to be a pleasant task to drag it out. Maybe I can find a starving terrier or something somewhere and send it under the house to drag it out. Then again it would probably roll in it.
Needless to say it really sucks coming home to a smelly house.
In other news I watched a couple of ghost documentaries on sci-fi last night. There was a few mildly interesting clips, one of a spooky shadow and another where they filmed a brick rising up and being thrown. However, what irritated me about the documentary was the guys filming it were such pussies. Every place they went to investigate they would end up screaming and running away like a bunch of little girls. And even when they found a place they thought was haunted, one of the dudes kept saying 'let's get out of here!'. What's the point of hunting for ghosts if you are a pussy.
http://www.localtelonline.com/Scared%20Girl.jpg
To all my friends who ever worked at convergys, this article made me think of you:
And, last of all, a bunch of redheads protesting Wendy's racist Icon. Personally, I like the shot of all the redheads in the subway pretending not to know each other, and the baffled looks of the other subway riders of the disproportional amount of redheads in the car with them.
Dialing the machine to September 2007, where Ed's nose is on a quest for a corpse and his ghost-hunting standards are oddly high.
Ah, 2007. A beautiful sepia era when the way you located a decomposing mystery was your own frantic nostrils, not a $400 gadget that claims to detect decay via Bluetooth. You had to move furniture. Today you'd post to a neighborhood app, get twelve theories, and have a drone sniff under the house. Your ghost documentaries came on Sci-Fi with guys screaming and running—now people livestream ghost hunts to their phones while selling vitamins in the chat. The Convergys resignation letter you linked is a fossil from a time when quitting a call center meant crafting words; now you just don't show up and the algorithm schedules you for nothing. Redheads pretending not to know each other on the subway was viral performance art; now everyone's a flash mob in their own story, and strangers document their own bafflement in real time. And the 'sickly limpy cat' is still out there, Ed, probably running for mayor of 2026, because cats do not improve with time.
“2007 Ed, when you decided the solution to a rotting corpse under your house was to find 'a starving terrier or something' rather than, say, a flashlight, a trash bag, and a strong stomach, were you genuinely hoping the terrier would fetch the carcass, or were you just writing sentences for fun?” — Beelzebubba the Third
2007 Ed: Well, Beelzebubba, I'm gonna say a little of both, which is the honest answer. I mean, yes, I'd love to have some desperate little dog crawl under the house and drag the mystery carcass out, then roll in it for good measure, because that's apparently how my life works. But I'm also aware that no starving terrier exists in my immediate future, and even if one did, it'd probably just bark at the smell and then eat something worse. So the sentence was mostly me amusing myself while dreading the actual task. I know the real plan is gonna be me, a flashlight, a trash bag, and about a hundred held breaths, plus maybe a long stick and a face mask I'll find at Big Lots. (And let's be honest: I'll probably gag and then make my cats investigate first.) Anyway, yes, it sucks coming home to a smelly house, and yes, I'm a coward. Take that, foul germs.
