The Twisted Rantings of the Dantelope

Someone recently asked me why I have a hatred of mimes. I really don't know. So I asked someone.

As described to me by my imaginary shrink, Dr. Subliminal, I've unearthed a most disturbing story that completely explains my fear of mimes.

As the story goes, a young family is sleeping in their home late at night. As the clock's bright red segments indicate 3am has passed, the light tread of rubber can be heard from outside along with the quiet creaking of a bicycle's gears meshing against an old chain. A young man, creepy, skulking, steps off the bike and pulls a mask from beneath his coat. As he approaches the garage, accidentally left open by the family's young son, he glances left and right, eyes checking carefully for observers. With the light of the moon striking his face, we are horrified to see it is the mask from the movie Scream. He mimes a knifing action and the mask seems to grin wider, the red glow of death seething from the slits.

When this story is told, I am of course, in a state of complete horror, shocked, stunned, scared, sweat dripping off my balding head.

To relax myself, I turn on the TV. And lo and behold.... (third story down)


---- Dantelope @ somewhere-they-are-holding-a-padded-white-room-for-me