Confession - Never Put Baby On the Couch

Ok.

I know it's been a million fucking days since I've posted but a traumatic event has just occurred. I need to share this.

So...

I'm heading downstairs to make sure all the lights are off before I go to bed. And, as I make the steps down, I notice something watching me from the couch. 

It was Chucky. 

A naked Chucky.

Watching me.

From the couch. 

I shit you not.

As I move rather quickly past it, I swear I feel Chucky's eyes try to enter my soul but, I tell you now, I would not let them! 

I run into the kitchen and try to calm myself down. After a few seconds, I realize I can only do this by shoving handfuls of Cool Ranch Doritos down my throat. Now I know I said that I only bought those chips as a treat for Maya but fucking Chucky is on my couch and trying to steal my soul. Something's gotta give.

So I grab another handful of Doritos. And then yet another with my right hand -- since these are all the chips I'm going to have for the night. In fact, I should just leave the bag open so they get so stale I won't want to eat them anymore. But who the fuck am I kidding? I'll eat those GD chips whether they are stale or not. So I better just grab one more handful so that I definitely have my fill and never want to eat another Dorito again.

And then I'll walk past Chucky. Again. To safety. 

But first I need some Diet Dr. Pepper or else Larry will know I've been closet-eating Doritos. And he doesn't understand ANYTHING, let alone the necessity of cramming salty snacks into your face when a baby doll is about to attack. 

So I chug the soda. 

Of course I now want to puke from the chips, the soda and the adrenaline. I imagine this is NOT how the hot chick from horror movies feels before she is slashed.

Comforted that I am not hot enough to be killed by the baby Charles Manson, I walk confidently in the direction of the stairs keeping my eye on that pinche piece of plastic.

It fucking winked at me.

I know you don't believe me but it happened. And there are two possible explanations. One, it is El Diablo. Two, my latent telekinetic powers have finally revealed themselves and forced one of the doll's eyelids shut. 

Whatever. I scream. 

I run up the stairs fearing my impending murder AND the scarier prospect that I have now woken up my children. Neither happens. In fact, Larry is still snoring in bed, impervious to the possibility that Chucky could be making me his bitch right about now.

So I wake his dumb ass up.

"Hey!" I shake him. "Go downstairs and move the baby doll off the couch."

"Whhhhhaaaaaaaatttttttt????????" He's showing less life than the doll.

"Go. Down. The. Stairs. And. Move. The. Baby. Doll. Off. The. Couch. But-take-a-picture-of-it-first-because-I-think-I-need-write-about-this."

"What are you talking about?" I finally have his attention. 

"You heard me. Do it."

I hand him my phone and he shuffles out of the room. When he comes back up and turns the corner, I scare the holy holiday shit out of him. Tough guy.

"What happened when you moved it?"

"I didn't move it."

"WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?"

"You are CRAZY. Fine! I'll move it!"

 He goes back downstairs. When he gets back, he shows me this lame ass photo. 

So we can now cross two talents off of Larry's list....protector and photographer. That baby was a lot scarier in person. Trust.
 
But wait. What is that in his lap?

An ax? Seriously, Chucky?

I rest my case.


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I had a really rough time last year. Combine that with laziness and you have a defunct blog.

I hope Chucky has inspired me to write again. Sadistic dolls can often do that. Inspire you BEFORE they kill you.

Sweet dreams!

ps. This post was brought to you by Diet Dr. Pepper and the 1980s. Thank you.

pps. I mean the caffeine of the sugary drink. Not the actual company. Of course, you knew that. But the caffeine won't let me shut up.