Thank you 90210. A Halloween tale. . .of terror.

For the last week and a half my humble little blog has seen a remarkable jump in viewership. A normal day is between 3 and 5 unique visitors to the "AS", that's the cool new way of referencing "Absolutely Spoo". Check with the cool kids on the street, they'll know, they'll probably even let you into their gang if you say it. So while I was getting used to, and more than content with, about 4 hits a day, suddenly my Blogworld was sent into upheaval as the hits skyrocketed to 12 or 15 a day. . .the horror. Needless to say, I spent the next few days carefully combing my data to see where the trend started. I then broke out my "Nostradamus For Dummies" and a black mirror, so that I might get a glimpse into the horrifying end of the world that this jump in viewing had caused.

To hear the end of this spooooky story just take the leap. Take it!

Friday, September 21, 2007.

The day seems so far off now. Like a wisp of hot breath being torn to shreds by the cold winter bite. I had no idea that when I wrote about my trip to the thrift store that it would spark the end of all matter and humanity. I couldn't have known, it was just. . .a thrift store, or so I thought.

It's all so clear now. If you're reading this it may already be too late. I know, now better than ever, why I felt such a strong calling from that ping pong table. I hadn't found it, it had found me. I was suckered in by it's low price and alluring green boxes and white lines. I was such a fool. I didn't even stop to ask myself why someone would want to get rid of such a fine miniature tennis court.

I swept it up and put it in the back of my cherry Trans Am, that's what I call my dad's truck, the cherry Trans Am. Everyone was so happy to see that bedeviled table leave their small Christian store. I was all to eager to bring the burden on myself.

Two days it set, no, it waited on the back of my cherry Trans Am. Waiting for the moment that it could be unleashed upon the world. I protected it from the wind, rain and all assortment of elements. Perhaps, snow and/or light sleet, though that is highly unlikely, no matter though, I protected the wicked monstrosity. Allowed it time to hatch a vile scheme.

As if by hidden signal I new it was time to make the trip to church. Partially because it was Wednesday and I am always at church on Wednesday, but I would have been there no matter what on this ominous day, the table would make sure of that. I traveled to the cherry Trans Am and made sure the tarp was secure. The tarp, I now understand, was our last and final hope to contain the horror. Or course I quickly removed it upon arriving at the church.

Three young men, I heard them called "Youth" by the inhabitants of the church, came to give me a hand in taking my new treasure indoors. They came to take the table. . .inside. I don't know if I can ever be forgiven for bringing those boys into this. I must tell my story anyways.

It was about this time that I wrote the post and linked to a picture. This Picture!



Oh, the humanity! The flood of Belgian viewers to my blog began only moments after! Not just Belgians, no, Australians, Canadians, Norwegians, even the unbathed wretches of North Carolina found their way to my site. How despicable this constant surge of readers. How wicked the desire to view that picture. I was feeding the universal desire to dress up like a 90210 character and I didn't even know it! The table had played it's hand. It new when to hold'em and it knew when to fold'em. I dare say it knew when to walk away and the blasted atrocity knew when to run.

I was ensnared, my deep. . .deeeeep hubris wouldn't allow me to take down a post that was garnering me this much attention. Even if it meant saving the world from a clone army of Brendas and Dylans washing up on the shore of every coast this October 31st, I just couldn't do it.

All I can do is this. . .write to warn you. If you see a Scandinavian wearing acid wash, run. If you see a Lithuanian in a vest with embroidered flowers or something on it, fear for your life and make haste. Friends, if you stumble upon young Belgian men with teased hair and a rebel without a clue attitude, don't let your guard down, no matter how badly you want to go to the Peach Pit with him. No good can come from this. None.

I know where the table is, I know where it is plotting, planning, waiting. I just don't know how or when. We must all be vigilant, and perhaps we should attend the Euharlee Baptist Reformation Party on October 31st from 6 till 8. The table is at my church still, so we could watch it, and try to keep each other safe, or is it already too late? Only time will tell. . .do you hear the opening credits in your head? Bada da da da dun, da da da da dun chung chung chung. Wheedledee wheedledee wheeeeee! It sounds alot like that, maybe I was of in the third bar, you know, with the wheedledee's. Either way, beware the creeping terror that is, 90210 fever!