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11.30.2005

 
Let's make this a long one.

Firstly, I would like to provide everyone with a very quick lesson on visiting their parent's home for any major holiday. If the parents leave or, like mine, weren't there in the first place, DO NOT SNOOP. I cannot emphasize this enough. Don't go through their things. Not even the junk drawer that was there when you lived there and has since only just accumulated more of those goddamn Val-Paks and an odd assortment of thumbtacks, some from countries as far away as Mars. Just don't do it. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it severely nauseated and psychologically scarred the human being. Let's have a "hypothetical" example just to demonstrate what "could" happen if you disregard this simple rule:

You are sitting around the big, empty house, minding your own biz and maybe watching HBOWestActionHitsIV on the ridiculously big screened TV. They are rerunning Men In Black for the 3000th time, and in fact you remember watching it the last time you visited about 6 years ago. This is of course a boring situation. You can't just snack the time away because all your folks keep stocked in the house is wheat bread, protein shake mix, and the "Foods of Nations that Mostly Eat Dogs" selection of Lean Cuisines. You can read a book, perhaps, but no, the TV is on and there is no way that you can turn it off. You leave it on, but start to wander around the house a little. You begin small, just checking out what's under the counters in the main bathroom off the hall. Not much. Some cotton balls, gauze, some weird scissors that you play with for a second pretending that you're Neil Scissorhands, Edward's younger brother. Lame. You move on to your sister's private bathroom. Nothing too great. Blowdryers. Tampons. Weird role playing garb on the floor. Does she have anything weirder, you wonder. This is of course the point at which you should stop. You don't.

The chest of drawers seems likely. Girls keep all their secret things there, right? First drawer: socks. Lame. Second drawer: lingerie. Creepy, but interesting. Why would anyone need 8 corsets? Too much black, slutty for girls who don't know how to seduce but think they do. But wait...what is this? Eww. Jackrabbit. Aaaand lipstick pocket vibrator. Does she think she is going to need to get off on a bus trip or in line at Schlotsky's or something? Ok. So, hilarious and weird, but nothing too....oh God. Oh No. Leather Riding Crop. A little vomit tries to escape. The part of you that thinks people falling down stairs is hilarious whispers, "Take it out. Examine." It's caught on something. Tug harder. OH....MY....GOD. Tangled with the riding crop is a ball gag. Shove it back in the drawer. Run. Oh Jesus run. Regroup at the couch. Ok. Ok. Just breathe. Your brain isn't listening though. Your feet are already making their move for your parent's bedroom.

Just a cursory glance, right? Just a quick check for any cool sweaters your dad may have left, or cash in a sock, or easily modified life-insurance policies. Nope, nothing. Onto their bathroom. Pills maybe, or at the very least some cough syrup. Hmm, some Prell, Colgate shaving cream, Breck, who the hell uses Breck, they don't even make that anymore do they? Oooh, Brut. Ny-Quil. Save that for later, maybe. Other than that a big fat nothing. Closets...nothing. There used to be a gun under the bed. That could be good for a few minutes of inspection. Damn, it's gone. What's that on the other side, though? Black garbage bag. Jackpot? You open it. More vomit, lightheadedness, is this what a heart attack feels like? 6, count them, 6 vibrators of varying array, some of which you can't even imagine being pleasurable let alone legal. And they sit on a nest of Penthouse Forum, Playgirl, and Hustler, surrounding by a ring of VHS tapes with names like Peter Meter, and Pink Heat, everything looking like it has seen better days, most of which were probably sometime in 1978. Part of you is revolted. Part of you is cool and scientific and detached. That part is thinking, "Hey, another Jackrabbit. And a g-spot vibrator. And that giant one seems to be glow in the dark." The other part isn't thinking anything because it is cowering in a corner, rocking back and forth, and singing songs from "Annie" that it remembers from fourth grade. Both parts unanimously agree to push the bag back under the bed and get the hell out of there. You return to Men In Black just in time to catch a witty remark from Will Smith, the black version of Christian Slater. In a few hours you'll be hungry. Enjoy your Lean Cuisine.

Now, all of these terrible events could be prevented by following an even more cardinal rule, which is: don't ever go back to your parents house once you have moved out. Sometimes, however, this can't be avoided so follow Rule One: Don't Snoop. The life you save may be your own.

I, on the other hand, am more than willing to come to your parent's or loved one's houses and snoop through them for a nominal fee of $5 or something really cool that I find that no one will miss.

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