Big Blogger 2, Task #6, Urban Legend
This week, we have a guest Big Blogger, Rachy, who commands
us to create an urban legend. She says:
"There are a lot of Urban Legends out there, but not enough. This
week you have to come up with your own Urban Legend, which
has to be plausible at the least. Now Big Blogger does know quite
a few Urban Legends, so don't think you can pull a fast one on me
by just copying and pasting something from a website."
I have been thinking about the things that piss me off, and I've come
up with an Urban Legend called....
THE COMFORTER
Urban Legends abound in Hillbilly Mom's neck of the woods.
We have the mysterious hook-armed lunatic who terrorizes daters
parked on Lovers' Lane. We have the psycho who telephones
the babysitter over and over, until the police tell her the call is
coming from within the house. We have the fried rat found in the
bucket of KFC. We have the dead mouse discovered in a bottle
of Pepsi. We have the old lady who dried her wet poodle in a
microwave. In America's Heartland, there are many tales of
unexplained encounters with odd creatures. We have BigFoot,
from Redneck Diva's Oklahoma stomping grounds, and MoMo,
the Missouri Monster, from HM's home state. But this legend is
not about them. It is about the lesser-known, but more widespread,
critter: THE COMFORTER.
The creepiest thing about THE COMFORTER is that he is a
shape-shifter. He can change form...man, woman, young, old...
you never know where THE COMFORTER will pop up next.
THE COMFORTER seeks out those who do not want comforting.
He gloms onto them, touching, probing, seeking contact where it
is unwanted. He is the bearded principal with nicotine-stained teeth
and coffee breath, who rubs your back and breathes into your face.
She is the hugger who won't take "No, I'm fine" for an answer, and
wraps her tentacle-like arms around you, squeezing the very life
out of you. He is the schoolbus driver who drapes his arm around
your shoulder, exuding his tobacco-y, motor oily essence into your
pores, leering, "Hey, gal...how ya doin'?". She is the college friend
who comes home with you for a visit, and in the middle of the night
wheedles, "Come down here on the floor and lay with me." He is
your best friend's boyfriend, who says, "Spend the night with me.
You can have the bed." She is the close-talker who almost touches
your nose with hers in conversation. He is the 8th grade boy who
slides down the bleacher to sit next to you, his thigh pressing
against your own. She is the girl at the bowling alley who squats
down in front of you, rests rests her elbows across your knees,
lays her chin on her arms, and says, "Do you remember your score
last game?" He is the 9th grade boy at the winter dance who sits on
your lap, wraps his arm around your neck, and whispers,
"Somebody's been drinking." She is the girl who follows you into
the girls' bathroom, and kneels between your legs at the toilet.
Comforting you.
You never know when THE COMFORTER might appear. But
you can bet it will be at a time you don't want to be touched.
Do you say, "Eeewww!" and back away, thus hurting THE
COMFORTER's feelings? Or do you endure it, feeling violated
for eternity? Can you just say 'No' to THE COMFORTER?
Oh H*LL NO!
THE COMFORTER thinks he is doing a good deed. He thinks
he is sensitive and caring. He does not know you abhor his touch.
He thinks he is giving you the gift of comfort, yet he is scarring
you for life. THE COMFORTER lives for close personal contact.
As a child, his favorite Milton Bradley game was Feely Meely.
He even hums a little disco ditty that he made up about himself, to
the tune of Donna Summer's The Wanderer. Only his version is
called 'The Comforter.'
Woke up this morning
crawled from underneath your bed.
You tried to sneak out on me,
but I followed you instead.
You started feeling bad,
so I stepped in to be kind
'cause I'm the Comforter.
Oh yes, I'm the Comforter.
I follow you at all times.
Oh, that really blows your mind.
But I don't give a hoot what you think
or you do...
I know I'll get to you,
It takes so little time...
Cause I'm the Comforter.
I'm the Comforter.
Cause I'm the Comforter.
I pop up anywhere.
Cause I'm the Comforter.
I cause the folks to stare.
Cause I'm the Comforter.
All the time.
Cause I'm the Comforter...
I'm the Comforter.
Beware...THE COMFORTER!
Big Blogger 2 Cyberhousemates
us to create an urban legend. She says:
"There are a lot of Urban Legends out there, but not enough. This
week you have to come up with your own Urban Legend, which
has to be plausible at the least. Now Big Blogger does know quite
a few Urban Legends, so don't think you can pull a fast one on me
by just copying and pasting something from a website."
I have been thinking about the things that piss me off, and I've come
up with an Urban Legend called....
THE COMFORTER
Urban Legends abound in Hillbilly Mom's neck of the woods.
We have the mysterious hook-armed lunatic who terrorizes daters
parked on Lovers' Lane. We have the psycho who telephones
the babysitter over and over, until the police tell her the call is
coming from within the house. We have the fried rat found in the
bucket of KFC. We have the dead mouse discovered in a bottle
of Pepsi. We have the old lady who dried her wet poodle in a
microwave. In America's Heartland, there are many tales of
unexplained encounters with odd creatures. We have BigFoot,
from Redneck Diva's Oklahoma stomping grounds, and MoMo,
the Missouri Monster, from HM's home state. But this legend is
not about them. It is about the lesser-known, but more widespread,
critter: THE COMFORTER.
The creepiest thing about THE COMFORTER is that he is a
shape-shifter. He can change form...man, woman, young, old...
you never know where THE COMFORTER will pop up next.
THE COMFORTER seeks out those who do not want comforting.
He gloms onto them, touching, probing, seeking contact where it
is unwanted. He is the bearded principal with nicotine-stained teeth
and coffee breath, who rubs your back and breathes into your face.
She is the hugger who won't take "No, I'm fine" for an answer, and
wraps her tentacle-like arms around you, squeezing the very life
out of you. He is the schoolbus driver who drapes his arm around
your shoulder, exuding his tobacco-y, motor oily essence into your
pores, leering, "Hey, gal...how ya doin'?". She is the college friend
who comes home with you for a visit, and in the middle of the night
wheedles, "Come down here on the floor and lay with me." He is
your best friend's boyfriend, who says, "Spend the night with me.
You can have the bed." She is the close-talker who almost touches
your nose with hers in conversation. He is the 8th grade boy who
slides down the bleacher to sit next to you, his thigh pressing
against your own. She is the girl at the bowling alley who squats
down in front of you, rests rests her elbows across your knees,
lays her chin on her arms, and says, "Do you remember your score
last game?" He is the 9th grade boy at the winter dance who sits on
your lap, wraps his arm around your neck, and whispers,
"Somebody's been drinking." She is the girl who follows you into
the girls' bathroom, and kneels between your legs at the toilet.
Comforting you.
You never know when THE COMFORTER might appear. But
you can bet it will be at a time you don't want to be touched.
Do you say, "Eeewww!" and back away, thus hurting THE
COMFORTER's feelings? Or do you endure it, feeling violated
for eternity? Can you just say 'No' to THE COMFORTER?
Oh H*LL NO!
THE COMFORTER thinks he is doing a good deed. He thinks
he is sensitive and caring. He does not know you abhor his touch.
He thinks he is giving you the gift of comfort, yet he is scarring
you for life. THE COMFORTER lives for close personal contact.
As a child, his favorite Milton Bradley game was Feely Meely.
He even hums a little disco ditty that he made up about himself, to
the tune of Donna Summer's The Wanderer. Only his version is
called 'The Comforter.'
Woke up this morning
crawled from underneath your bed.
You tried to sneak out on me,
but I followed you instead.
You started feeling bad,
so I stepped in to be kind
'cause I'm the Comforter.
Oh yes, I'm the Comforter.
I follow you at all times.
Oh, that really blows your mind.
But I don't give a hoot what you think
or you do...
I know I'll get to you,
It takes so little time...
Cause I'm the Comforter.
I'm the Comforter.
Cause I'm the Comforter.
I pop up anywhere.
Cause I'm the Comforter.
I cause the folks to stare.
Cause I'm the Comforter.
All the time.
Cause I'm the Comforter...
I'm the Comforter.
Beware...THE COMFORTER!
Big Blogger 2 Cyberhousemates
posted by Hillbilly Mom at 6:23 PM
5 Comments:
Mmmmm, I wonder when the comforter will appear in the house then...I feel comforted by him already!
Methinks that's not a legend...I've encountered quite of few of The Comforter's many personas!! Eek!!
Cazzie,
He will appear when you don't want him. Perhaps when you have Carlos the Cabana Boy snuggled on your bosom, hiding in the glorious loo from The Diva. Cause she's BAAAAACK, you know.
Diva,
Yes. And Eeewww!
This Is Big Blogger
There there Hillbilly Mom, let me put my arm aruond you. [insert evil laugh]
This Has Been Big Blogger
Big Blogger,
OWWWW! It burns! It burns!
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