I have a serial killer in my house. Oh sure, she hasn't hacked us to pieces yet, but it's only a matter of time.
See, I met her on the internet. And, as we all know, everybody online as an internet axe murderer. It's been shown countless times on news stations: If you meet somebody from the world wide web, they will inevitably stab you through the eyeball, as they laughing maniacally.
I must have a death wish or I wouldn't have invited this demoness of the dark to Ottawa for a week. I would have continued our friendship through email, Facebook and other safe venues. I would have reminded myself that just because I've known her - or whatever persona she projects online to mask her evil - for about half my life, it's not safe to have her in my home, because she will eventually start keeping my body parts in my own fridge (talk about adding insult to injury).
Look, if CNN tells me I should worry, I obviously should. I'm a fool for ignoring their bright red warnings of the murder du jour flashing across my screen. Don't I know to look for the signs? They're so obvious:
1. She's from the internet. As was stated above, everyone from the internet (except me and people I know in real life) is aching to go on a murder spree.
2. She used to play online fantasy RPG games. She was obviously escaping into a world where murder was okay. If you're a Level 18 thief holding a knife with +2 backstabbing capabilities, think of the virtual guts you can spill. The psycho chick was undoubtedly getting off on the thrill. And aren't those Dungeons and Dragons people all devil worshippers anyway? I mean, except me.
3. She's met some mutual friends in person, but those people are also from the internets, so they're probably all in on this together, the murderous bastards they are.
4. She's an IT professional. You know what those people are like. Fucking creepy is what. She probably perfects her terrifying sociopathic grin in the light of her work monitor, cackling as she codes in languages only the too-smart-to-be-stable understand.
5. Her current hobby is being a reenactor. You know, those people who dress up in fake old clothes and run around pretending to kill the enemy for the delight of onlookers? Now, if you're going to have a hankering for butchery, what better way to get your jollies? There are swords, muskets, canons and other weapons of destruction at your fingertips, and you could probably get away with bringing them with you just about anywhere under the guise of reenacting. Nobody would even blink; it's genius! But my house psycho needs just a little more to get off. She plays a surgeon, with actual 18th century surgical tools. My family is so done for.
6. We took Spawnling to Build-A-Bear yesterday and she got him a stuffed animal because he didn't get to go camping with his brothers and dad this week. She's obviously trying to get me to let my guard down enough that she can slice my scalp off; Easier to do right now since a good portion of the Maven family is an hour away in a tent. Vulnerability is something serial killers feed on.
7. She met my mom and sister last night. This is a brilliant way of fooling those closest to me. That way, when my body is discovered in a quarry, my family will throw the popo off her trail by saying things like "It couldn't have been the houseguest. Not her. She was so nice!"
8. Have I mentioned she has an internet presence?
Anyway, the whole thing is surely a big mistake. I don't even know if my will is up to date, and we certainly don't have a lot of life insurance on me. I probably should have taken care of my affairs before having knife-crazed 'netter into our home. Hindsight is always 20/20. Ironically, this is also the name of the program that a picture of my bloated corpse will show up on.
Before I get axed - and not in the figurative, recessional way - I should update you on Spawnling. He has an ear infection which is now being treated with antibiotics. So not quite "just a fever" but definitely not something scary. Phew! Thanks for all the well wishes.
Anyone want to guest post on my blog while I'm getting strangled?