How To Do Things Extra-Creepy


I was skulking in the dark on my enclosed patio when I saw a shadow walk past my patio door. I wondered how my neighbor would have felt if she knew that I was standing on the patio when she walked by, just sort of staring into the howly fog. “Arooooooooooo! Pretty creepy!” I mused. I thought about a few ways in which I could go about my life and really creep people out to the max at the same time. “It could be the new national pastime,” I suggested to whomever was listening. (Creepily, I was the only one listening.)

    * Grow a beard. My beard is creepy. I scare children with my beard. Never let the fibers all be aligned in a single direction. I’m like Santa Claus when he was just an at-risk juvenile being sentenced to perpetual community service at Guantana-Norte Pole. Ta-daa! Hail Santa!
    * When opening doors, open them just a crack. Look out with one eyeball for a few minutes to make sure the coast is clear. Once you’re reasonably sure the coast is clear, stick your head out and look back and forth, then back again, then forth, to ensure nobody’s there. If somebody is there, say “oh, excuse me!” and close and lock the door. Then open it back up a crack immediately and stare out with one eye. That’s entry-level creepy.
    * While shopping at the supermarket, pick a thin, waifish white woman and follow her through the store. You’re not really doing anything wrong — you’re just picking up and investigating legitimate groceries that you might find in each of those aisles. But make sure that you walk down every aisle she does, and make sure you pick something off of the rack. If she looks at you, smile awkwardly until she looks away. That’s creepy.
    * Whatever it is that you’re doing, do it extra slowly. Channel Jeff Goldblum in your endeavors. Do it with bugeyes and with slow, deliberate, oozy motions.
    * If you’re pouring yourself a drink at a party, pick up the container, look at it, pick up your glass, look at it, pour the drink very slowly, look at it, measure it, look at it, comment on it, look at it, pour some more, look at it and measure it. Wipe the bottle with your finger, look at it, and then suck tenderly on your finger. And look at it.
    * If you get caught looking at someone, look at them much harder, with a big sweetieboy smile on your face. Make the girl or boy think for sure that you were looking at them and only them. Point if you have to. That’s deliciously creepy.
    * Before you say anything to anybody, smile at them for four seconds. One-two-three-four-now-talk-but-do-it-slowly-and-deliberately.
    * If you have a cubicle, make sure to play a lot of 1970s porno-style music. Gyrate your hips whenever your victim walks by. Wink and say “Yes, it is.” That should confuse them.
    * Before you leave the elevator, position yourself right against the crack of the door so those rude people who think they can get on before anybody else can leave, are met with a face-full of your face. Don’t be afraid to lick them, because they are your bitches.
    * When meeting someone for the first time, it is okay to pretend to be a rabid dog-man and to nip at their heels.
    * Listen to The Brady Kids’ top four or five hits all the time. Jan will take you to her sugar shoppe and you will say yes. That’s creepy.
    * Eat marijuana candy for breakfast so that by lunch you are a jumbled mess of smiley, drooly, effusive goodness.
    * Wear a cape, but also wear short pants. Spandex bicycle shorts are preferable. Ooze…
    * When someone is talking to you, lick your lips a lot.
    * Wink your eye at people a lot. Open your mouth slightly when you do.
    * In public, suck on your index finger. Up to the third knuckle. Make eye contact with someone close by.
    * When meeting a fair maiden, don’t kiss her hand, suck on her fingers for thirty seconds. Show her that you have no gag reflex.
    * If you are a man, wear a sports bra. Whether you need one or not, that’s pretty creepy.
    * Create your own sign language and use it during board meetings.
    * Any time someone finishes a sentence you should pretend to shoot a pistol at them, and make a Kch! sound from the side of your mouth.
    * Wear a necklace reminiscent of a voodoo pouch. The more feathers that stick out of it, the better.

There are definitely other things you will need to do to be extra-creepy and I will keep you apprised as my list grows.

 

 

[c] 2009 Russ of America



Salad Dressing


Who put the salad dressing packet in my mail box? Is it a message? What does it mean? Does it mean that we’re Valentines? It’s Italian dressing — did an Italian do it? I’m one person who doesn’t love an Italian boy. (Except for Tomassi)

 

NEW UPDATE ON THE SALAD DRESSING (07.24.08 – 12:38pm)
Someone moved the dressing to Ray’s box! What the…?!

 

And then the salad dressing disappeared and now there’s an alcohol swab back in MY mailbox! What the…?!

 

UPDATE (07.24.08 – 2:56pm)
Someone took the alcohol swab, but now there’s a scrap of paper in my mailbox that says BLACK KIDS! What the…?! Who is doing this?! Is it racial? I hope not because I like all of the races. Anyway, don’t worry, I’ll keep you posted as things develop.

 

UPDATE (07.25.08 – 1:19pm)
What the…?!
The “black kids” scrap moved from my mailbox to Shawn’s mailbox! THAT’S DOWNWARD TWO MAILBOXES! How did that happen? Convectional air current? I DON’T THINK SO!!! Someone’s up to something! I’m not sure how it will all pan out, but I just hope that nobody is harmed from all this horseplay!

 

UPDATE (07.28.08 – 5:18pm)
What the…?! I dunno, guys — but nothing new has happened with the salad dressing. Except there’s no salad dressing involved anymore. The “Black Kids” scrap is still in Shawn’s mailbox, and I noticed earlier today when I was delivering mail that John has the alcohol swab in his box. I don’t know if that’s new or if that’s old because his mailbox is several inches above my head and I didn’t have a direct line of view inside of it.

 

So I’m not sure what to make of this. I should probably figure out who’s in the office today and then cross-reference that against my list of people who were in the office the last time I noticed a change. I’ll send the data off to the lab.

 

Thank you for your continued vigilance.

 

UPDATE (07.30.08 – 3:08pm)
Friends, you’ll be pleased, and relieved, to know that the salad dressing situation that was plaguing me has stopped completely, and there are absolutely no signs that the victimization will continue. Thank you for your kind words and assistance in this area. I’m quite relieved, as you must be as well.

 

UPDATE (07.30.08 – 3:41pm)
What the…?!
I seem to have jinxed myself because almost as soon as I sent out this latest missive expressing happiness that the reign of dressing had ended, my mailbox was polluted with more condiments. That’s what I get for having a big mouth! There is now ketchup, mustard AND EVEN MAYONNAISE IN MY MAILBOX! What the…?! What is going on?! What does it mean? If only there were some code to explain it all. HOLY!

 

UPDATE (07.30.08 – 4:47pm)
I’ve done a little investigation. I’ve gone to each person in this office, looked them right in the eyes and asked them if they were the salad dressing person. What is most odd to me, is that in spite of this, I’m not convinced that it’s anybody, and simultaneously I’m convinced that it’s everybody. Even the person who said “yes” I’m both convinced IS and IS NOT the salad dressing person. Yes, I still just don’t know. What I do know is this: not one of you is free from being scrutinized as the rogue who has turned my mailbox into a delicatessen. I will catch you, and you will pay.

 

UPDATE (07.31.08 – 11:28am)
Look folks, I think we have a really big problem here. I could be wrong, but I think that in addition to the ketchup, mustard and mayonnaise, someone brought back the salad dressing. What the…?! And then today when I came in — get this — someone had put a spatula in my mailbox. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? A SPATULA! WHAT THE…?! A SPATULA? YOU SICK FREAK! I’ve got to get to the bottom of this. If anyone has any leads or advice on how to tackle this issue, it is imperative that you contact me immediately.

 

UPDATE (07.31.08 – 3:41pm)
What the…?!
Vegemite? Honey? SOMEBODY PUT THEM BOTH IN MY MAILBOX!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yeah, I’m NOT KIDDING! I’d never kid about something like this!!!
Sickness. Pure sickness. One of you, whoever you are, needs to go to church and get saved! This evil madness is the product of the devil and you know it and you need to get saved so your sick devil-touched soul doesn’t rot in the fiery pit of hell.
I want you to go to church right now and ask for forgiveness and then stop your insane sickness!

 

UPDATE (08.01.08 – 11:55am)
Did you ever read that story by that guy who wrote a story about that guy who was in the cold and it was really really cold and the guy was going to die and he knew it and he’s talking about how tired he got and then he died? That’s how I feel, only instead of the cold, it’s the mailbox AND THIS TIME THERE’S PITA BREAD TOO!! WHAT THE…?! My end is near. Who is doing this to me and why?

 

UPDATE (08.01.08 – 2:34pm)
Oh, boy, this is big. Earlier today there was a ketchup, relish AND MAYONNAISE and SALAD DRESSING in my mailbox. And honey and Vegemite. AND THEN A PITA BREAD WITH A BAG AROUND IT!
They’re all gone.
Whoever this fiend is, THEY ARE QUITE COMPLEX. Like a Lipovitan sustained energy drink. This fiend replaced all of the above-catalogued litters with:
A hot mustard
A soy sauce
A Smuckers.
I sent this data to a local criminology lab, and here’s what they came up with:
* Hot mustard is a symbol for how hot the fiend thinks I am. (I’m not saying it’s *my* perception, I’m just telling you what the crime lab told me.)
* Soy sauce is fairly literal. There was a packet of sauce, and “soy” is Spanish for “I am.” It is true that I am saucy. Code = cracked.
* The agents at the lab were stumped by Smuckers. At first they thought it was some kind of rhyme, but they ran it a few more times and realized that what is contained in the Smuckers packet is marmalade. They then ran THAT datum back through their mainframe and concluded that the criminal is hinting at the chorus of the popular (but horrible) song Lady Marmalade, where the singer asks, “do you want to sleep with me this evening?”
I do have plans for this evening, so the answer is, tentatively, no. In the interim, I’m going to get the Human Resources contact information from La Nida and begin the complaint process for Sexual Harrassment, just in case the criminal does turn out to be Kevin after all.
Thank you for being there with me through this rough time.

 

UPDATE (08.01.08 – 02:40pm)
And an espresso cup.
What the…?!

 

 

[c] 2008 Russ of America