OH, THERE'S A WATCH TOO?

Growing up, I have always had an obsession with packages. I would be waiting at Christmas evening, or eve, whatever the "PC" term of calling it is. I'd wait for everyone to open their gifts so I could climb in the empty boxes and act like I was invisible. Well, not invisible, but just unseen. Yeah, that was it. They would tell me to stop farting around and clean up the boxes, so I would, but I'd store them in my secret hiding place in the basement along with my toenail clippings and grocery receipts my Mom gave me to "learn responsibilty." It was a small corner, but my hours spent playing Tetris gave me insight on how to fit everything everywhere.

So, 17 years later, my Mom finally found my stash of goodies in the basement and took it upon herself to dispose of everything! Can you imagine the devastation that I was experiencing? 17 years of storing the most important things in my life, GONE. I didn't speak to her for a month after that tragic incident, paintballing her house with bicycle drive-bys in my ski mask and mittens and prank phone calling from random pay phones in the city. I tried to rotate the phones so the same number wouldn't come up twice in one week, and pretty soon she changed her number. You think that stopped me? H to the ELL no! I started working for a telemarketing company that sold "end of the world" insurance to people on unemployment. The deal would secure them in the alternate universe that NASA was currently "researching." I found her new number, called her frequently, and convinced her to get the Simmons package, which included a free flight to Neptune for facials and the freedom to choose from 3 different color space boots. The Muska option only gave you grey boots. She made the right choice.

So, after the stalking scenario, I came across something that occupied my time to the fullest. It was the Flud Turtable Watch, in all it's glory, staring me right in the face with glimmering corners and a gripping band. My attention was focused, but not on the shiny watch. It was the sexy packaging that it came in. The little mini flight case was giving me feelings of intimacy, like how people feel when they got to Sybaris resorts, blocking out the fact that jiz and human excretions are literally EVERYWHERE. I felt a tingly feeling DOWN THERE, where Sargent Shaft is in charge of the entire nether region.

The shiny window showcasing the watch was so clear, like a small little window washer lived inside the case to actively seek water spots or fingerprints. A 24/7 window washer? A motivated one at that? What more could you ask for?

I gave the watch all the attention I could, but the case was the selling point for my very important purchase. Now I had a new place to keep my secret stash of newly collected clippings and receipts. I suppose everything DOES happen for a reason.

Hey, why do these telemarketers keep calling me? OH MY GOD! MY HOUSE IS BEING AMBUSHED! GET DOWN! GET DOWN!

What?? They're paintballs? Shit.

Karma is a bitch. Sorry Mom