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The no thumbs package

original print date, July 27 2004

     
                Paul Ryan

It's not every day that you receive a package from someone claiming to have no thumbs. A man by the name of "Johnny No Thumbs" has sent me something in the mail, and I'm really not sure what to think about this package. It's taped tightly and excessively, as if something creepy were capable of escaping from it. It smells weird, like mothballs from an old lady's closet. I've shaken it harder than a curious kid on Christmas Eve, but it doesn't make any sound.

This package is proof that "Homeland Security" is a sham. If the department were real, existing solely to root out things that appear terroristic, this package would have been quarantined the second it was brought to the post office. For Christ's sake, the return address says "The Swass Report, c/o Johnny No Thumbs". How much more terroristic-sounding does a package need to be? The Swass Report? What is that, Swiss? Those sneaky little bastards are due to get off their neutral stance and start whooping ass. Soooo due.

I picked up a sharp knife from the kitchen and carefully opened the package. The knife wasn't to open the package; it was to protect me against whatever creepy spider/lizard/troll/OlsenTwin creature jumped out at me from it. What I found inside the plain brown wrapping didn't help to ease my fear. Enclosed in a Ziploc bag (!) was an old, unmarked VHS case. A note - which appeared to be written with a black Sharpie marker (!) - was held to the case with a thick rubber band.

What's in this creepy generic VHS case? Had I gotten drunk and ordered a snuff film online? Had some fat Daily Ramblings groupie with a video camera recorded a raunchy video and sent it to me? The VHS case sat untouched on my table for a good 15 minutes before I got the courage to read the note. Whoever had sent this thing, it appeared they worked at Mr. Movies or something. Since the Mr. Movies style VHS case was my only clue at the moment, and I was afraid I might die upon opening it, I wrote a note and taped it to the refrigerator.

"DEAR POLICE, THE MURDERER IS A FORMER OR CURRENT EMPLOYEE AT MR. MOVIES, OR SOMEONE WHO REGULARLY COMMITS THIEVERY FROM MR. MOVIES AND DOES NOT THINK ILL OF DISCARDING A VALUABLE VHS CASE. PLEASE GIVE HIM/HER/IT THE DEATH PENALTY. YOUR GRUESOMELY MURDERED FRIEND, PAUL"

Luckily, when I opened the note, all my fears were put to rest. I had forgotten I had a prize coming from a contest I won a few weeks ago on Johnny No Thumbs' website. After correctly answering a question, I was given my choice of two prizes: a guest entry on his blog or half a turkey sandwich with my choice of mayonnaise. To be funny, I chose the turkey sandwich with Hellmann's mayonnaise. I didn't think the bastard would actually send it.

Unfortunately, the thought of a week-old unrefrigerated turkey sandwich smothered in mayonnaise and stuffed into a VHS tape case made me more frightened than before. I had to open it completely, but the smell was already bad enough.

I opened the video box slowly, and was surprised to find only a light smell lingering inside. The sandwich had been sealed in two more Ziploc bags. I opened the large one and noticed another slight increase in odor, but nothing too bad. Feeling cocky and confident, I quickly tugged open the little Ziploc bag and took a big whiff.

Sweet. Mother. Of. Christ. If anyone ever tries to tell you Ziploc bags don't hold in the freshness - or in this case, the pungent and offensive odor - don't believe them. The horrendous odor flattened me like a runaway semi-truck running over a bag full of puppies. I couldn't take it anymore. It was too gross. Imagine someone vomiting directly into your nostril, and times it by 100. This smell was worse.

I couldn't even throw the sandwich in the garbage. I didn't even want to touch the bag. I figured the smell would be no better across the room in the garbage can, so I had to figure out a way to get it out of my apartment. I couldn't find any protective gloves, so I kicked the little Ziploc bag with the moldy sandwich through my door and booted it NFL style to the end of the hallway.

If the sandwich is still there at this time tomorrow, I'm going to make it into a regular feature of this website. It'll be like having a community Chia Pet. I'm going to name the sandwich "Milo". Make sure to stop back tomorrow for an update on Milo's status.

                           

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