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So here's a true Midnight Madness experience horror story, not for the squeamish; but definately for you guys!
So it's 3am-- ish, in smog filled, Listeria ridden downtown Toronto; and I decide to tag along with some of the other bloggers for a late night bite,
Early breakfast.
We order our food, and I'm enjoying it, everyone is... (for legal purposes)
In a sort of daze I try to keep up with the conversation, it's good times, but something is peculating on the far side of the table.
Gradually, the murmurs start. Protests.
The fellas and ladies start to complain about something that's left on MM blogger Eric Veillette's plate.
An ecological aftermath of uneaten poutine;
See, all this grease has bunched up on one side of his plate.
A glob of melted cheese. And maybe it's the fluorescent lighting, but this thing looks like it's thinking. Growing. Planning.
And Eric shakes his head, like, nah, not gonna eat it.
Eden Log Lover Blogger Jeffery Wright actually pokes this thing with his finger; as if to give it a taste of flesh. Like it needs that.
And the indentation his finger print leaves takes a few seconds to bubble back out.
When the waitress clears away the plates, collects the money, I can already see what's going to happen. And Chris (A guy, who was there) starts doing this impression of it talking, and I'm laughing, but it's not really funny.
It's the kind of laughter you use to kill horrible, horrible satire. To silence the truth.
It knows where you sleep
Because this thing on the plate, that started as cheese and gravy, I'm thinking, it's already slid out in the sink, at the back of the restaurant; and it has heat vision.
And as we walk outside, part ways; it's the first act of a new horror movie.
In the sink, it's attacking other clumps of uneaten food, congealed eggs, it's absorbing them and it's bubbling. At some point it grows a single strand of hair; probably based on Jeff's DNA.
This thing, it's got options. It'll hunt the weakest of us first, which means I need to sleep with my lights on.
But then, it might save me for last; as it drags itself down the street, rolling along collecting cigarette butts, chewing gum, condom wrappers all winding into this mound, by the time it gets here-- it'll be the size of a pit bull.
And this thing demands to be eaten. Vocally, it literally tells you to eat it. Through whichever orifice it can get to.
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