This one’s gonna be short. Yesterday I was hanging out with this lovely lady and her sexy friend at a park near our office building. We were shooting the shit and it was great to have cold beverages in an otherwise hellish afternoon weather; everything was peachy-dory… until this one lady came into the frame. Imagine, if you will, a trunk-shaped lady in her 50’s. Back arched forward, like Bigfoot; she was around 5″ 4 roughly, and she was wearing these high-heeled shoes. Navy blue skirt that ran low just past her knees and a cream-colored blouse. A white man’s afro for a hairdo, kind of the type old ladies usually sport when they stop giving a damn. Her face looked like something out of a Sin City novel… in fact, she kind of looked like Marv.

We’re drinking and having a blast on our park bench when we see the lady closing in on us, presumably just walking on the cement path that ran right past us. She was holding these small bags; smallest one was a Tweety gift bag, totally harmless. She looked normal from afar. anyway, she closes in on us and as she walks past our bench she gave me the most stone-cold look anyone’s ever given me… when I tell you “stone cold,” imagine this Charles Bronson, “Deathwish” type of vengeance-driven look that could only be apeaced with the sweet release of her enemy’s death. That day, the enemy would be me.

She’s staring at me with the fury of 1,000 burning suns, and what do I do? Well, smile and toast to her, of course. Fuck, I’ll never learn. What does the lady do in response to my friendly salute? She stops on her tracks and the entire city grows silent. The people working on the park’s Christmas ornaments stop working, the traffic stops moving, the wind stops blowing and everything reaches a screeching halt as the lady calmly stops and gives me the most piss-inducing stare in the history of stares. A moment of silence expires and then, with the certainty of both death and taxes, she says to me:

“He who laughs last, laughs best.”

I almost shat my pants. She turned away and continued her walk, while my response to that (”I’m very much aware of that!”) paled in comparison to the feeling of me being cursed by this crazy bag lady. She kept on walking and we were all laughing at how bizarre what just happened was, and we followed her from our bench as she walked to an elderly couple not far away from us, surely with the intent to curse their unpure asses as well. This lady was nuts… or was she? She looked normal. Absolutely normal.

That was yesterday, so I suppose I have a week until the curse claims my soul. If in 6 days you don’t see the site updated, you’ll know what happened. Tell my mom I love her. Don’t sell my fucking comic books, and have a party at my funeral; my body will probably be nowhere to be found since it will be burning in the 7th circle of Hell, so don’t worry about it too much.

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