About a year ago, David Reilly found himself in the middle of a hurricane in New York. In a piece, long thought to have been lost, David recalls his experience.
Just as I sat down to write about my exhilarating adventure to find the birthplace of Lucy Liu, (mission accomplished by the way!) the Apocalypse decided to happen. I quickly realised that it wasn’t the actual Apocalypse, but a storm comprising of two parts electricity, one part water and three parts malice. [but a storm more akin to a high school production of Judgement Day]. Between bouts of soiling myself I clambered to the window to take a look at the storm outside. The lightening was so fast and regular that I was instantly reminds of the lights in the youth discos I went to during my teenage years. The thunder was so loud that it too reminded me of these discos, despite being a lot easier to listen to than some of the music that was played.
I returned to my desk feeling more calm and composed but still a little shitty-pantsed. I decided the best approach would be to ensure that the storm could not get into my apartment. I locked the doors, closed the windows and even turned off all of the lights to give the impression that there was nobody home. Rather than rest on my laurels, or even my hardys, I also created a contingency plan in case the storm manages to breach my defences, like some kind of electrostatic battering ram. This will pretty consisted of me wearing the rubber gloves from under the kitchen sink. My logic being that I’d be able to deflect or even catch the lightning. Yes, the combination of reading comics into the wee hours and the lack of sleep that this brings about has caused me to develop slight Walter Mitty tendencies, but there’s no harm in being prepared.
Just as I’m saying my farewells to the cats, the storm stops. Typical. Now the cats are going to be smug, thinking I meant all the nice things I said to them. I only made the emotional speech so as to meet my requirements as the underdog protagonist going into battle. It worked out alright for William Wallace as far I remembered. I probably should actually watch all of Braveheart though…
A.K.A Captain Victory
Lonesome George, 100, of Galopogas, passed away on June 24, 2012 as a result of a long battle with time. As he slept his insides finally succumbed to Father Time and turned to dust. He was born to Brenda and Jackson George of Pinta Island, also tortoises, some time in the last 100 to 150 years.
