This article from the Telegraph (quite possibly my favorite news source) is a heartwarming tale of a widow finally finding out what was in her husband’s mysterious trunk. It had always been locked and he never showed her what was inside. When she opened it, what would she find? Gold Deblumes? The body of his first wife? Something sexually explicit which when written the context of a blog post seems really immature after you finish laughing at it? No, she found a box full of his favorite toys which he kept since the 20s. The fucking 20s. I wonder what people will find out about me when I’m maggot food? …Besides the unspeakable atrocities which are the contents of my three current hard drives.
Of the many startling things you’ll find are my two medium sized collections. First is my collection of baseball cards, unless my mother threw them out while I’ve been away at school. I mean, I’ve been back countless times for stretches as long as three months, but have I looked at them? No. Have I sold some of them to live more comfortably in a cheap upstate New York town? No. Surely I must be sitting on something special. I mean, there has to be a good reason why a straight 21 year old male has thousands of flash cards with pictures of fit men on one side and then fun facts about them on the other, right? No.
Then, you’ll find my somewhat more impressive and even more useless collection of Hot Wheels. Clearly, I had a shitload of fun as a kid. I would buy them every week and play demolition derby in the driveway. I wish. In realty, I would arrange them in neat, very organized rows and look at them. That’s it. Again, are these something someone else would want? Nope. Not a snowball’s chance in hell.
This is my back up plan in case I don’t become wildly successful and famous on my own terms. I will have written a novel which will become infamous in the event that I’ll have died too young under very bizarre circumstances.
Guy 1: Hey, remember that guy who died while trying to out-drink Amy Winehouse?
Guy 2: Yea, wasn’t it like the alcohol didn’t kill him, but when he jumped out of the plane his parachute was actually full of silverware?
Guy 1: Haha, oh yeah. Like Yosemite Sam or something.
Guy 2: Yeah, what a jackass, what about him?
Guy 1: Apparently he wrote the world’s most incomplete guide to Hot Wheels.
Guy 2: Weird.
Guy 1: Right?
Barack Obama Parphenelia
I’ve been pretty vocal and obnoxious about how nothing ever changes in politics and how we should expect nothing less from America’s fifth black president. Deep in the tundra of northern Manitoba is a small storage facility, once used to house bombshells and other weapons parts (Canadians are such pussies, just put the shit together already). In a crate hidden among thousands of other crates is a collection of every novelty piece of Barack Obama propaganda. “I’m fired up” shirts, “Yes, we can” buttons, “Other unoriginal, unspecific, slogan” bumper stickers – you name it and it’s in there. I even have one of those stupid action figures (dolls) that keeps popping up whenever I use StumbleUpon. It’s a goldmine of fodder for future generations of VH1 producers as well as shame and embarrassment about my true feelings for that big hunk of sexual political chocolate.
A Strapless Dress
This one’s pretty straightforward. And green.
I think that’s enough things for people to look forward to finding/fighting over. There’s plenty more weird stuff I’ve accumulated, but most of it is in digital form on one of the aforementioned horrible horrible hard drives.