Movember, Day Three. Starting to show signs of activity.
Psychosomatic Facial Hair House Ape Syndrome: last night I was fired up to do some paintin'. Beth's idea: paint a small wall by the kitchen with Chalkboard Paint, so the kids could doodle, and we'd have a place to write Important Reminders, as well as tell people about our Seasonal Lattes and the Coffee of The Day. Then she got ambitious - what if we were to slap on some Magnetic Paint Primer first? Magnetize the wall! So we could hang stuff up there with magnets! This sounded cool.
So she headed off to the Home Depot while I watched election returns. In Florida, a bona fide world-class White Collar Criminal (yes, that's what you are when you're the CEO of a company that defrauds Medicare to the tune of some $741 million on your watch) was readying his gubernatorial acceptance speech. The Flyover States continued their proud tradition of putting lunatics and cretins in positions of power. I was disgusted, and I looked forward to watching paint dry.
The stuff was noxious. Magnetic Paint. The very name suggests an EPA nightmare, toxic black liquid metal. It smelled of brimstone and Chinese toy factories. It spread like asphalt, and the roller I was using spattered it everywhere. Soon my arms were flecked with black ichor. The fumes were making me stagger. I began to panic, imagining the stuff entering my pores and making its way up into my brain, killing off vital thought centers, reducing me to a jabbering zombie. I gotta get this shit offa me, I thought. This is how people end up voting for Rand Paul. The shit was drying quickly. I ran to the sink and grabbed a bottle of dish soap. It did nothing. I tried again, this time using a washcloth. Nothing. Those black flecks were like small deposits of coal. In desperation, I reached for the Mister Clean Magic Eraser. I ran it under the water, and began to scrub my arm. After a few minutes, it took that black stuff right off.
Along with a considerable amount of skin.
So it was that I spent the remainder of the evening nursing my over-exfoliated arm, and cursing the Tea Party. Magnetic Paint and Jerry Brown as the Sane Alternative for Governor. We are living in the End Times.