Djere.net Installment 1
There's a place I can go, in a land I can't see. Known as the Djere.net forums, this remarkable website allows me to exchange ideas with a plethora of brilliant and humorous individuals from the comfort of any computer. One entire thread is devoted to myself, and I think of it as the ideological precursor to this journal. Since it'd be rude to force y'all to go there to enjoy it, I'm bringing it to you. Here's the first installment:
Names and addresses have been changed to protect the innocent and/or stupid.
A few weeks back, our intrepid (or is it insipid?) hero was relaxing in his apartment at 15 Alfie Dr**e, R******ster N*, 14623, lounging on the living room floor watching Equilibrium with his henchmen, Ted and Joe. It was late in the evening, and he found himself nodding off as the movie drew to a close. The film ended, and since Tom was in a phase where he slept on his bedroom floor, he opted to stay and sleep there, rather than risk exhaustion by climbing the stairs to his room. His cronies headed up to their respective bedrooms, but forgot one important detail. The lock on the front door.
Meanwhile the evil Mr. X finished his 12th blood of the innocent and peach schnaps cocktail, hopped into a cab, and headed back to his lair, 16 Alfie Drive...
Our hero slept on, the moon tracing its slow arc across the constantly-shedding beige carpet. Tom's sleep was undisturbed, as he had recently begun "pumping iron," causing him to typically sleep "like a baby." The only negative side effect was occasional muscle soreness. The day before this particular adventure, Tom had worked out his... OBLIQUES, a fact that would soon save his life, or at least possibly his carpet.
Mr. X stumbled out of the taxi, overtipped, and headed toward his apartment. However, this time X decided not to read the numbers on the door before walking inside.
X opened the door, and walked inside. He knew, in his heart of hearts, that his staircase was to the right of the door, so he bore starboard. However, he neglected to notice that in this apartment, the staircase was on the left. In addition, he didn't notice a lump of sleeping flesh on the floor, therefore he didn't lift his foot quite high enough to avoid brushing our hero's sore left oblique. X continued around the corner into Tom's kitchen, opened the basement door, and stared puzzledly at the basement stairs.
Tom awoke to a sudden blast of cold air, followed by a sudden cacophony of pain in his side. He roared awake, ready to pour out his wrath on whatever creature had dared interrupt his precious slumber. Tom quickly surveyed the room, spotting a stranger disappearing into his kitchen. Tom headed for the kitchen, and was greeted by a puzzled Mr. X, looking as though he'd never seen a basement staircase before. Tom quickly put two and two together, and realized that this man was:
1) Inebriated - stupefied by alcohol.
2) Probably a neighbor, or a guest at a party of a neighbor.
Tom used these two facts, and with all speed created a defense. "Hey, man," Tom said. "I know what you're looking for; it's right through here!" Tom beckoned the man to follow him, and led him to the front door of the apartment. Tom opened the door, and ushered the man through it. He then closed the door, locked it, and patted himself on the back for a job well done. But the terror was far from over.
There I was, having just bested their Spaniard, about ready to head upstairs to sleep, when I heard someone try to open the front door. I, figuring he'd realize his mistake once discovering that the door was locked, ignored him for a bit. Then, he tried to unlock the door with something that was obviously not the right key. After about two minutes of trying, he decided to begin banging on the door. Despite the fact that my roommates had gotten me into this situation in the first place, I didn't particularly want revenge in the form of waking up to a drunkard pounding on our door. So, I armed myself and opened it. But what, do you ask, did I arm myself with?
The answer, in short, is our security system. However, to explain the security system I must digress to our first time staying in the apartment. We discovered that our lovely sliding glass door (which doubles as a big whistle on windy days) can be opened when locked simply by lifting it slightly to raise the hook of the lock above it's latch. This we did not like. So to keep unwanted guests out (when the front door was locked, at least) we went out and purchased a 3 foot length of board that only allowed the door to be opened approximately 2 inches when it was locked. It was this sophisticated anti-trespassing device that I brought to the door with me.
I opened the door, and said "May I help you?" He replied "Um, what, what room is this?" I replied "What're you looking for, chief?" He shot back "Well I live here!" Always a fan of Socrates, I inquired "What's your apartment number?" Despite the difficulty of the question, my opponent managed to remember that his apartment was 16 A**** Drive, not 15. I indicated that he might want to try his luck with the apartment across the street, he stumbled off with a subdued thanks, and I tottled up to bed, convinced that all was again right with the world. Or was it?
Yes. Yes it was.
Names and addresses have been changed to protect the innocent and/or stupid.
A few weeks back, our intrepid (or is it insipid?) hero was relaxing in his apartment at 15 Alfie Dr**e, R******ster N*, 14623, lounging on the living room floor watching Equilibrium with his henchmen, Ted and Joe. It was late in the evening, and he found himself nodding off as the movie drew to a close. The film ended, and since Tom was in a phase where he slept on his bedroom floor, he opted to stay and sleep there, rather than risk exhaustion by climbing the stairs to his room. His cronies headed up to their respective bedrooms, but forgot one important detail. The lock on the front door.
Meanwhile the evil Mr. X finished his 12th blood of the innocent and peach schnaps cocktail, hopped into a cab, and headed back to his lair, 16 Alfie Drive...
Our hero slept on, the moon tracing its slow arc across the constantly-shedding beige carpet. Tom's sleep was undisturbed, as he had recently begun "pumping iron," causing him to typically sleep "like a baby." The only negative side effect was occasional muscle soreness. The day before this particular adventure, Tom had worked out his... OBLIQUES, a fact that would soon save his life, or at least possibly his carpet.
Mr. X stumbled out of the taxi, overtipped, and headed toward his apartment. However, this time X decided not to read the numbers on the door before walking inside.
X opened the door, and walked inside. He knew, in his heart of hearts, that his staircase was to the right of the door, so he bore starboard. However, he neglected to notice that in this apartment, the staircase was on the left. In addition, he didn't notice a lump of sleeping flesh on the floor, therefore he didn't lift his foot quite high enough to avoid brushing our hero's sore left oblique. X continued around the corner into Tom's kitchen, opened the basement door, and stared puzzledly at the basement stairs.
Tom awoke to a sudden blast of cold air, followed by a sudden cacophony of pain in his side. He roared awake, ready to pour out his wrath on whatever creature had dared interrupt his precious slumber. Tom quickly surveyed the room, spotting a stranger disappearing into his kitchen. Tom headed for the kitchen, and was greeted by a puzzled Mr. X, looking as though he'd never seen a basement staircase before. Tom quickly put two and two together, and realized that this man was:
1) Inebriated - stupefied by alcohol.
2) Probably a neighbor, or a guest at a party of a neighbor.
Tom used these two facts, and with all speed created a defense. "Hey, man," Tom said. "I know what you're looking for; it's right through here!" Tom beckoned the man to follow him, and led him to the front door of the apartment. Tom opened the door, and ushered the man through it. He then closed the door, locked it, and patted himself on the back for a job well done. But the terror was far from over.
There I was, having just bested their Spaniard, about ready to head upstairs to sleep, when I heard someone try to open the front door. I, figuring he'd realize his mistake once discovering that the door was locked, ignored him for a bit. Then, he tried to unlock the door with something that was obviously not the right key. After about two minutes of trying, he decided to begin banging on the door. Despite the fact that my roommates had gotten me into this situation in the first place, I didn't particularly want revenge in the form of waking up to a drunkard pounding on our door. So, I armed myself and opened it. But what, do you ask, did I arm myself with?
The answer, in short, is our security system. However, to explain the security system I must digress to our first time staying in the apartment. We discovered that our lovely sliding glass door (which doubles as a big whistle on windy days) can be opened when locked simply by lifting it slightly to raise the hook of the lock above it's latch. This we did not like. So to keep unwanted guests out (when the front door was locked, at least) we went out and purchased a 3 foot length of board that only allowed the door to be opened approximately 2 inches when it was locked. It was this sophisticated anti-trespassing device that I brought to the door with me.
I opened the door, and said "May I help you?" He replied "Um, what, what room is this?" I replied "What're you looking for, chief?" He shot back "Well I live here!" Always a fan of Socrates, I inquired "What's your apartment number?" Despite the difficulty of the question, my opponent managed to remember that his apartment was 16 A**** Drive, not 15. I indicated that he might want to try his luck with the apartment across the street, he stumbled off with a subdued thanks, and I tottled up to bed, convinced that all was again right with the world. Or was it?
Yes. Yes it was.