Tuesday, October 12, 2004

Red Sox Win, Man Sees UFO. Coincidence? I think not.

Editor's Note: Robby had a strange experience on Friday. This is his story:

MY UFO STORY (OR HOW BUDWEISER SAVED THE DAY... AGAIN)
By Wendy’s Husband

Okay, here’s what happened (forget that I had another really long, stressful day that involved several near mishaps in this insane Boston traffic. Forget that I’m the second most paranoid conspiracy theorist I know. Forget that I’m a life-long insomniac and have constant hallucinations during the day from sleep deprivation. Forget that I’m researching all those UFOs (which are oh so very carefully) described in the Bible. Forget all that). I popped open an ice-cold Bud (in a can!) and Vladimir Guerrero smacked a big, fat grand slam and tied the game 6 – 6. I felt the collective stomach of all the folks at Fenway Park drop through the bleachers all the way out here in the ghetto. I looked at my beer. “Son of a crack,” I said.

Did my opening a beer just as Guerrero’s bat made contact with the ball jinx the Sox? I sulked. I tried to distract myself. “Don’t watch,” I said. I fed Kumar and Futureman. I fed Gabby and Rya. I started fishing through the dirty clothes hamper for my lucky sock hat and then it hit me. If it worked once… maybe it would work again. I waited and waited and waited. I tried to pick just the right moment. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. I was dying of thirst. I looked at the “born on” date: SEPTEMBER 14. “That’s fresh,” I thought. I popped it open and WHACK! David Ortiz smacked a 2-run shot in the bottom of the 10th. Fin! Sweep! Series over! I looked at my beer. “Right on,” I said.

Gabby and I celebrated by working on our Halloween party invitations and chasing tennis balls from the living room into the kitchen and back. Rya celebrated by licking up the beer I had spilled on the coffee table. Usually she does this herself. (She’ll knock over a beer or glass of wine with her tail and then look at you as if to say, “Sorry… it was an accident. Well, here, I’ll just lick it up. No worries.” She’s the lickinest dog in the universe. She has several nicknames: Lickie, Lickie Lake, TJ Lickers. This week I made up a song that goes “Oh Lickie you’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind, hey Lickie… hey Lickie.”)

Finally it was time to go pick the Bookish Girl up from the bookstore (I get to vacuum and shake out the rug). But just as I was getting ready to leave I heard this crazy wub-wub-wub-wub-wub-wub-wub-wub-wub sound coming from outside. Gabby ran to the office window to look out. “What the hell?” I thought. It wasn’t a helicopter, quite, but similar. I honest-to-God had this thought as I walked down the steps: What if there’s a UFO out here?

I stepped off the porch and onto the sidewalk and that’s when I saw it. It scared the hell out of me at first. It was the size of a small building, but rounder. And all lit up. It roared like the sea. It hovered directly above the housing project across the street. For a second I thought maybe the aliens were going to beam up the dudes that mugged me last winter and beat the hell out of them (or at least give them the anal probe). I squinted into the darkness and put my hand up to block out the street light.

There was writing on the side of the UFO but I couldn’t quite make it out. At first I thought it said: BEER. But then I realized I was just having one of those Homer Simpson-esque moments, some kind of mental Freudian slip. I stepped closer. The air hissed and cracked and buzzed like a Poulan. Finally I could see the writing clearly. The UFO had the word HOOD written on the side in great big letters. HOOD. I said the word over and over to myself. “Hood. Hood.” What the hell could it mean? Then I remembered a verse from the book of Ezekiel that says “above the heads of the creatures there was something that looked like a dome made of dazzling crystal and the word HOOD glowed hence.”

“Holy Christ,” I thought. Was this the end of the world? If I had hair it would have been standing straight up. I stood paralyzed and watched the UFO until it drifted slowly away. I couldn’t wait to tell the Bookish Girl. Would she even believe me? I climbed in the car and raced toward the bookstore. What would I say? How would I tell her? And then in one of those rare moments that can only be described as an epiphany, it occurred to me that I could save the world by rushing home and popping open another Bud. “Honey, you’ll never believe what happened,” I said bursting into the bookstore. “What?” she said. “I’ll tell you as soon as we get home,” I said. “We’ve got to hurry.”


Editor's Note: Needless to say, we've got a whole case of Budweiser in the fridge
ready for tonight.
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1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

You had me at "son of a crack," Rob.

Date beer was born: September 14
Date of Erin's birthday: September 14

Coincidence?

~ Erin

10/12/2004 3:06 PM  

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