Friday, June 15, 2007
Please welcome the first guest destroyer to Carnage Supreme. We don't know who he is, and he (presumably) doesn't know he's here, but that does nothing to diminish the magnitude of the event. I'd like to say that I hired a freelance destroyer to come in and do some destruction, partially in order to assuage my fear that Heisenberg was setting in and I was ruining things just to write about them, but the truth is that the universe noticed the unusually long no-breakages period and provided a Saviour.
Of course, we don't actually know that our mysterious destroyer exists, because only G actually saw him, and he's an unreliable witness at best. Liz (aka "her upstairs") claims to have seen an appropriately clad stranger scarpering from the scene, but upstairs is a known stoner hangout, so that could mean anything.
Adding further to the already murky waters, our destroyer only broke the window in the front door, which arguably needed a good kicking to convince Carol that our security was inadequate, and he only took the crappiest laptop in the house, which could only barely get it up anyway. G maintains that the destroyer took his phone, but G *returned* to the house, catching him in the act. Are we to believe that G left the house *without* his phone? In 2007, are we really going to buy that story?
So today, of all days, some time after the event (this is a(nother) backdated post) we can finally unmask the mysterious burglar destroyer dude. Some deliberation was necessary, but now the jury is in. The fact is that there was no such mysterious burglar.
Cast your mind back to June 6, approx 4.15pm. G returns home from his noncy stick-waving session and discovers that he can't open the front door, either because he's forgotten his key or because the Door Fairy has accidentally moved lock #3 into alignment with the planets and No Power On Earth can open the door from the outside. G tries various combinations of knocking on the door and calling people and all the rest of it, and eventually concludes that I am enjoying my post-trawl afternoon nap in my room with Vangelis's Voices playing at threshold of pain volume.
At this point G flies into a martial rage and drop-kicks the door into the middle of next week. However, the unexpectedly loud noise shocks a respectably dressed and impeccably behaved young black man who was randomly passing, and he takes off down the street, assuming quite rightly that he will be blamed for anything going wrong in this neighbourhood.
The noise also jolts G out of his destructo-trance, and seeing the black dude take off realises that he has a short amount of time to cover his tracks. He dumps the crappy Sony laptop under the love-seat (for later removal to some remote trash-can), hides his phone in his backpack (for later production upon "replacing it", which carries the nice possibility of profit via my renter's insurance), and then bursts into my room, yelling "are you stupid?" upon encountering my rather sedate countenance. He then takes off in his car to try and "track down" the offender. Of course, no progress is made with this task.
G managed a convincing performance during the resulting police visit, and no further questions were asked. Until now.
And if you're out there, good sir, and come to any distress or inconvenience from this performance, please accept my apologies.