Here there be monsters (socratic) wrote,
Here there be monsters

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Very few of you are old enough to remember this (I measure a person's age from the date they began reading my journal. Before that they were "Alive" but, let's face it, it wasn't really "Living.") but back in January of '04 I was the foreman on a jury in a case involving a woman who broke her leg on some stairs. I initially pushed for her to get a money award, and eventually we ended up finding the building negligent but not responsible because of a mistake that her lawyer made.

I am also a fat man.

Due to these two facts I am apparently now public enemy #1 in the eyes of stairs everywhere. Stairs have never liked me, they are not fond of the obese, but what was once just a normal dislike has bloomed into a vicious hatred. A vicious violent hatred. Of me.

You may remember that I recently tripped on a loose piece of asphalt on some stairs and sprained my ankle. Well with the power of Christ on my side that sprain healed, and today I went out for a vigorous jaunt in the park. Naturally I returned to the site of the crime and tried to reconcile with the stairs that had wronged me. I decided that this time I would walk up rather than down them, thus testing the terms of our truce without putting myself in danger of tumbling down me. It seemed a safe and just plan.

The stairs attacked me. As I went to take my first step up the bottom stair it LURCHED UPWARDS and caught my foot, sending me tumbling face first. I skinned both my palms and my left knee. Motherfucker. I lay there for a few moments in shock, all sorts of emotions running through my mind. I had expected that the stairs and I would find some sort of peace, but it appeared they wanted to up the ante. Well up it they did. I mounted the rest of the stairs to the top and continued on my way, but events had set in motions. Events that the stairs can no longer control.

You see, one incident I can tolerate. One incident I can let pass. I am a diplomatic person, I am a kind person. I do not fly off the handle.

But you want to sprain my ankle AND skin my knee? Oh, it's on. It's ON. And by "it" I mean FULL SCALE WAR. I'm going to hit these stairs with everything I have. Just go crazy. It's like Vietnam, I'll be shooting them, using claymores, spraying them with Agent Orange. Okay, Agent Orange is a defoliant so it may not work against...stairs...but if they were made of...foliage...they'd be SO fucked right now.

Beyond just taking out this set of stairs, though, I'm going to play hardball with stairs as a CONCEPT. I'm going to be taking elevators and escalators and even handicap ramps. And if there's a place with only a staircase? I'll use the fire escape, whatever. Stairs are DEAD to me. DEAD.

And let me say this for any set of stairs reading this journal. If you try to come after me or my family again, try any funny business, I can't be held responsible for my actions. I may just DESTROY ALL MULTI-STORY BUILDINGS to get back at you. If everything is one story they don't need stairs, now do they? Think about that. You're expendable. Don't fuck with me, stairs. The telegraph fucked with me, and where is it now? Nowhere. The Zeppelin fucked with me. You see a lot of zeppelins around? So stairs, you're on the list. You don't mess with me, I don't mess with you, it's all good. You cross me again though...and...well...I'll climb you so hard you'll be flat for a week.

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