The Hagar of the Infernal Three Lock Box

Gross. I hate Rachel's diet blog! This kind of thing really bothers me, as I can't seem to get away from it anymore. There is no Rachel/Anna/Aubrey/Jessica/Whatever! Look at this:
That, at least, is probably an actual picture of somebody. Somebody's mom! But then look down there:

Aaahhh! Me no likey!

This is some sort of robot cousin to whatever killed Anna Nicole! TrimSpa's hit-models are no joke, and I think I just found where they're made!


Rachel's daughter Nadine writes, "Hey mom, so glad you finally got this page up! Glad I could help. Your story should inspire people. So proud of you. Love you and see you soon!" Like I say, it's this endless spiral of meaningless pseudo-info being pumped into the Internet/Universe, and until I find out why, I'll be stuck in the house. I refuse to believe that someone thought they'd just make money with this!

But as always, I am interrupted by the arrival of Stacy, carrying Krispy Kreme (tm) and a bottle that, on closer inspection, turns out to be Cabo Wabo(tm) tequila.
"You need to get out of the house!" she yells. "You- are you looking at those fucking diet blogs again? Look, either get something to make you shit out everything or don't - but quit doing this to yourself."

Accepting a white frosting-filled (my faaavorite), I ask her what's up with the aguafuego Mexicana (I'm learning Hispanic). She says (with a throaty laugh), "I've got my own diet plan, bitch!" And before I even know she's got the wrapper off, half of the bottle of 'Wabo is gone! She chases it with two glazed raised.

I know what this is. I've seen it before. This guy has been on my radar a long time.

Samuel "Sammy" Hagar, pictured here with the most talented chef in America, has been ruining things for everyone from a pretty early age.

While his work with Ronnie Montrose's band is largely lost to me, it's no secret what he did to Van Halen.

In between, he was just Sammy -or, "The Red Rocker". On one hand, just a goof, a rock n' roller with one foot in the grave. On the other hand, he started pushing boundaries that I knew should just never be pushed.

Ominously, in the middle of the otherwise pretty much party-ready song "Heavy Metal", he lets fly with this one: "It's your one-way ticket to midnight!"
And it became clear to me that he'd been meddling with things that one should not meddle. He had found The Ticket.

"Red! Red! Paaaint it red!" What could this be, if not a direct challenge to me? Asking your average pop metal consumer to make fun of me? I'm red, and it's not my fault! It's a family thing, a genetic condition! It's hard enough going to the store without some snot-nosed little carp sniggering and quoting Sammy Hagar!

So, he'd been going sort of off the rails like this for a while, when he released the album Three Lock Box in the early '80's. Now, it did deal with some social issues that I thought were tastefully chosen -'Remember the Heroes' makes you feel sorry for Vietnam vets a full six-or-so years before Billy Ray Cyrus! (They never had parades!) Also, someone had to make a statement about how your love is driving (him) crazy.
This was also the year that David Coverdale of Whitesnake dared to address the overlooked societal problem of too many people (who were) standing in the shadow of love. It was a high time for big ideas in popular music.

But the title song more or less was a cry for help. After he'd found The Ticket (back when he was Standing Hampton, whatever that means), it led him into an awful dreamworld/funhouse reality one hundred per cent built by God, with special effects by those Hellraiser guys.
Wandering around in terrible, terrible confusion and insanity, he just can't stop chanting this idiotic magical formula: "One two three lock box! One two three lock box!" And he never gets around to telling you what he's talking about!

I knew, though. Those that God would elevate he first makes utterly batshit crazy. I believe G.K. Chesterton said that. Or C.S. Lewis. Anyway, Sammy keeps trying to appease The Almighty:
"Don't go far/circle close/Father, son, the Holy ghost/To the Trinity...RAISIN TOOOAST!"

Now, what the hell could that mean? I mean, when he wrote 'There's Only One Way to Rock', at least it was clear what he was saying: there is only one God, and his name is...Well, lots of names, which is confusing to lots of people, and I don't blame them.
But "raisin toast"? What the fuck?

"Secrets of the Trinity/lie within the number three", he says. Well, of course it does! A trinity is three of something! So what's he trying to do here? It can't be as simple as this looks; nothing can.

So, before long, God rewarded his faithful servant with what he'd always wanted: the chance to destroy Van Halen. He'd always hated David Lee Roth, and lucky for him, so did Eddie, Alex and Michael. So with DLR out of the way, Sammy happily stepped in an intentionally ruined an excellent band with some of the worst, blandest, most awful crap ever pressed onto a CD.
I, like most of the world, took the next several years off, so far as my VH appreciating went. By the time it was all over, I was going to raves and stuff.

But now what's he doing? Living on the Cape of Saint Luke (who I met once: flipper baby!), marketing his own tequila, and all the while (God's) Love is Driving (Him) Crazy.
People always talk about how a bargain with Me is likely to end up with bad, ironic consequences and certain insanity. In my experience, that's what happens to those poor people who devote themselves to God.

So I take Stacy up on her suggestion that we go to Cabo Wabo's. I'm eating some poppers and looking at the table tent. It has some specialty cocktails I really wouldn't mind trying, but then I see what Sammy's really been up to these last years since VH.
"Sammy believes that you're never so tall as when you bend over to help a child..." Or 'when you stand on a child'; something like that. Sammy, like all Christers, deep down is into child sacrifice. I stop for a minute, and consider my chicken fingers that have just arrived, steaming and with a side of Loco Sauce (tm).

I'm too late. Probably he's in with the Shriners now. (Well? Where do more kids die every year?) Maybe there's something I can do, maybe not. Sammy's Standin' Hampton, and he's definitely not going to join my War Against Heaven. I try to slip away as unnoticed as a red person can be.
But when I get home, there it is on my voice mail...And it sounds like a fat, wheezy surfer guy...Oh no...
"Hey mom, so glad you finally got this page up! Glad I could help. Your story should inspire people. So proud of you. Love you and see you soon!"

Shit.

The Snuggie of Endless Entombment

Yeah, I know, right? I WANT ONE!!!

Well, I did anyway, and that's where all my problems began.

So I'm sitting around the house, right? Looking at cup-caking-related blogs, like Cupcakes Take The Cake (LOL~!), and I start to feel cold, so I have to go get a blanket.
"The willow turns its back on inclement weather," as Sir Paul McCartney said in one of his many wonderful songs. I just think he got better, the older he got, don't you? But- I have to go put a blanket on me, and I just found myself going, why do we have to do this the old fashioned way? How can your average person, in this day and age, go about having to keep warm by wrapping a damn blanket around you? Why can't they just have arms?

But then I met Snuggie. When I saw that commercial, I saw the future. My future. I wanted one, and I called the number. After a quick, polite and professional interaction with one of the helpful operators, I awaited the arrival of something I knew I needed.

The day finally came, I broke it out of the box, and I put it on. For the first time since the Final Battle, I finally felt Home. Like this baby:

You know, safe! In a cute way! Not scary and weird!

When I felt that snuggly fleece all wrapped around me, I did feel like I could use my laptop! I did feel like I could take a sip of coffee without getting all black and white, covered with a big 'x'. I could be the only guy at the sporting event who looked like a monk!

That night, I fell asleep watching teevee ("Secret Millionaire"!), and I felt like nothing bad was ever going to happen to me again.

Then I woke up. I looked down at my new favorite thing, and I said (yeah that's right) "i love you snuggie," just like that. Quietly.

Well, I don't know if I was expecting it to say something nice back or something, but I definitely wasn't expecting it to tighten its grip on me. That's what it felt like: a grip, and it wasn't going to let me go.
At first, I didn't really have a problem with it, actually. If it loved me as much as I loved It, then I had gotten my money's worth and then some! I actually spent the whole day that way. Warm! Snug! Unable to move!

Stacy came in around Three (she's back, by the way. She says she has no idea what I'm talking about with the Diet Blogs and so on. She was in Cabo, partying at Sammy Hagar's place), took one look at me and started laughing.
I just kind of said, "Snuggie..." and she goes, "It's a fag cocoon!" Then she leaves, without asking me if maybe I'd like a little help getting up.

So I try to actually get up, thinking that this is kinda silly. But I'm still pinned under that soft and surprisingly light PolarFleece (tm) that I only paid pennies for, by the yard . I realize I still can't really, you know, move, and maybe there's something wrong here.
Well, I hadn't had much time to think about that -maybe a half hour, tops- when Snuggie starts making this noise.

Not really a noise so much as It was...Talking. It started talking. Or more really like chanting, because it only said one word over and over: "Bo-dy...Bo-dy...Bo-dy...Bo-dy".
I still didn't really think this was that bad, but it really made me think. I fell back asleep again, determined to do something about this the next day, with a fresh outlook.

Well, my outlook was every bit as stale the next day. Snuggie had started to send PolarFleece tendrils up my neck now, and was starting to entangle with my natural hair. I wanted to say, hey, you don't have to do this, but my mouth wasn't working anymore, either.

I realized what this was, and what I'd have to do.
Still able to reach my laptop -just like they said- I went to Pizza Hut's website and ordered a P'Zone(tm)! (Well? I hadn't eaten in like thirty-six hours!) While I laid there for the next hour waiting for them to get there, I pondered my options.

The guy with the pizza/calzone wanted money. And once he figured out that the door was unlocked, he went about trying to find it. Eventually, he noticed me lying there, covered with sage green fleece.
He laughed and said something that kinda sounded like "fag cocoon", but I couldn't tell because Snuggie had now grown up into my ear holes. I fixed him with a sharp look.

He stopped, and looked back. We stayed like that a good while, locking eyes.

All Pizza Hut (tm) employees are my minions, whether they realize it or not. They peddle not-food, for reasons that I might one day explain to you. Matter of fact, everyone who works for the YUM Corporation (KFC, Taco Bell, Pizza Hut), from management on down, works to stoke the furnaces of Hell (it's in the Contract!).
But, this guy being what he was -that is, a pasty faced American teenager who plays too many video games- all I could find in his head that I might cause him to manifest that would actually help me in my delicate position was this bit of gibberish:

"WEB OF SPONTANEOUS FIRE!!!", he found himself proclaiming, no doubt to his surprise. It happened: suddenly the living room was filled with tendrils of pure infernal fire, which bonded to the Snuggie, who/which, finally having something else to contend with, let me go. In this time, it also incinerated, and was sent to Hell.

Which is where it came from, you might be thinking, right? No. Crap like this, that seems so benign but actually is Cancer, Up and Walking Around, comes straight from the Silver City, bitch-azzzz! This is God's work. He loves cute things that kill you!
The last time I got tired of this, I raised an army and stood against him. I lost, which I believe we have dealt with elsewhere. But I'm getting tired of this all over again. As tired of it as I was when I found out that Kansas was a Christian rock band.

If that bastard up there in the sky wants to mess with me in my home, let him come down and do it. I still have plenty of colleagues who work in the Republican Guard (which is what the Seraphim are calling themselves these days), and they said they'd welcome a change, whenever I felt like giving it another shot. This was only ten, maybe less, million years ago.

I shall raise an army. Then we'll see who gets to have infected blankets. After all this was done, and the smoking remains of the teen were cleared away, Stacy came back. She had a video of "The L Word", and some Panda Express (tm). She said she was sorry, but just couldn't take seeing me wrapped up in that thing. Yeah, I admitted it was goofy.

Then she goes, "You know, right? You know what you have to do, right?"
I looked at her blankly. "Y-you mean raise an army against God?"

She flicked me in the middle of my forehead with her finger. "No! You need to go to Cabo Wabo! It's awesome!"
I was relieved, but I wondered...

The Death-Spiral of Ultimate Meaninglessness

I really, really want this to stop.
You know what I like? I like being happy, and investing in the growthful things that everybody needs at this important time in our lives. I want us all -as a community- to find healthy and healing lifestyles where we respect each other no matter what!

And I wish I had some things to write about that are just the fun stuff I like to do: leaf-peeping, cup-caking, just snuzzling up with my Blanket Robe (tm) and "chatting online".
But no: here I am writing about my girlfriend's abduction again. At least I think it's an abduction: she's kooky, and maybe will just walk back in here one of these days, and I'll cry and hug her. Then she'll push me down and call me a fat crybaby again. I love her so much.

But we're back to where we were last time, I realized when I found Anna's Dieting Blog. Look at this!
I think it's Stacy again, and I think they pumped the fat back into her!
But it's even worse than that: what the fuck are those disembodied pants doing there?
There is a mostly headless half-woman there doing something with (or to!) those pants! She isn't Stacy, I know that, because Stacy is one quarter Native American!

It's important to me to maintain love relationships with people of other ethnicities: they need reassurance and understanding/acceptance. And besides: their skin is so soft!
But the Pants Vixen up there looks like she's three-quarters typing paper or something! She's so white, she reminds me of The Void.

Oh. Maybe that's how they're gonna get me: they'll send me to the Realm of Pure Nothingness. And it's represented here by this weird, annoying spiral of non-information that they keep pumping into The Internet just so I'll see it!
For instance, in the comments of this "blog", one of the commenters says,

"OMG, mandy, I love your blog! I have to try that stuff! I don’t think I would have bought it except that I got real-life testimony from a real person like you. I hate infomercials and stupid advertising copy that just sounds so fake. Your story just comes from the heart - so thanks, babe! Keep up all the good work.

Cindi "

Now, who is Mandy? Or is that one of those things you say on the Internet to mean something else, like ROFLMAO? Like, 'mandy' means my ass nearly died, yours? Or maybe it's just hacker-talk for 'wow' or something.
And why does Cindi feel so strong a need to go on and on about how real Anna is? Isn't that clear? She wrote a blog, didn't she?

But then it says, "comments closed due to spam". I dunno, but didn't the last ransom-note-blog ('cuz that's what I'm calling these!) have no real place to comment, and some open confusion about who the Blog Artist actually was?

And wait a minute: they both watched the Dr. Oz interview on Oprah, and they both found out about the miracle Acai berry, and they both started blogs about it? There is no way this could have happened on its own: someone is fucking with me. And they're doing it by either making no sense at all or trying to bore me to death!

Because look! They left too much of a trail! If you go to Annas Diet Blog, which is just like the other one but with an 'ing', you see that whoever this is couldn't even get the same pictures of the same lady!

But- oh mandy! You can still comment at this Anna's place! This is great!

You can tell that the other people who comment there are real, too, because they say things like "Rock On!" and "Hey mom, so glad you finally got this page up! Glad I could help. Your story should inspire people. So proud of you. Love you and see you soon!"
That kind of made me misty-eyed, the one from her daughter Kelly. It's also really obvious that these are real people -not actors- because they misspell things. A lot!

Like:
"yes i love this method i weighed 275 and now im 110. i feel freat and my boyfriend cant keep his hands off of me. Thanks alot."

and:
"JUst odered me a sample!"

and the kinda sad "I can’t do anything to intense."

No, no. None of us can.
Intense has always been really nice to me, and despite what he may or may not have done, I have no ill feelings toward him. But that's getting off track.

I am going to email Anna right now. I don't know what I'm going to say, but I know that it has a huge possibility of being exactly what I need in my life!

I'm cautious; I've been burned too many times before. But I don't think this is about Stacy anymore, and I don't think it necessarily needs to be about God's hateful plans for me. It might just be about growing a newer and fuller life for one's own self in this day and age: something we can all get behind!
Besides, Stacy's right: I am fat. Cup-cakers, you know what I'm talking about!