Site icon The Bloggess

It takes a lot to faze me. Consider me fazed.

So, I get weird shit in the mail all the time because I have readers who know me and who see weird shit and automatically think of me.  I’d like to think that’s a compliment.  Last week someone sent me a severed hand on a stick.  I’ve gotten scrotums and cobras and a box of dead hamster and books on Victorian venereal diseases and old taxidermy manuals and each time I think “My God, I’ve found my tribe” and Victor thinks “Is it too late to divorce her?”  And the answer to both of these is a resounding “Oh, hell yes“.

And today I opened a box from a reader (Stefano) who I once met at a reading.  He is lovely and Italian and he found this in a small shop in New York and thought I needed to have it because his wife was afraid it was going to eat their faces off while they slept.

She has a point, Stefano.

Hi. You’re never going to sleep again.

Hang on.  I’m shrinking down more pictures.  You need to see the rest of this but it’s publishing slowly.  Probably because this creature is busy eating your computer screen so it can get to you.  Just saying.

More coming…

Photo #2 for everyone going “WHAT IS THAT?”.  It’s a mermaid, you guys.  Obviously.

Like Sea Monkeys, if they were on steroids and then you forgot to feed them and then they crawled out of their tank and wanted to eat you.

It would be easier to say that this terror doesn’t belong in my house, except that it fits perfectly between the insect funeral scenes and the dead mice playing musical instruments.

I didn’t even add a filter here. It exudes it’s own filter.
It looks shocked. Or it might be mocking me.  Frankly, everyone in the house looks a lot like this at the moment.

There’s grass and stuff in its mouth and I want to take it out but I’m pretty sure that’s a trick to get you to feed yourself to it.  Not falling for it, mermaid.

Regardless, the bar has been set, people.

Stefano, my hat is off to you.  Also, please clean out a spare bedroom as we will be sleeping at your house until we have ours blessed by a priest.  A young one and an old one.

PS.  Someone asked what the cats think of it.  Ferris Mewler is hidden in a cupboard.  Hunter S. Thomcat is keeping an eye on the situation.

He’ll never eat fish again.
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