Jeff Wysaski
Swamp monsters. They sure do have terrible timing, right ladies? I mean, one second, I’m in the backseat of a 1965 AMC Rambler having a steamy make-out sesh with my dreamy boyfriend, the next I’m being dragged kicking and screaming into the foggy night.
Hey, Swampy! Newsflash: that letterman’s jacket flung over my shoulders means I’m taken!
But then, when I’m single, I can’t catch the eye of a swamp monster to save my life. Can they smell my desperation? Or is it that they only want what they can’t have?
And why is it that every time I sit down to have a nice picnic along the waterfront, a swamp monster sneaks up behind me and carries me away before I even have a chance to eat my Ants on a Log appetizer? But then, when I need to get to the other side of a puddle without getting my high heels wet, where is Mr. Seaweed Arms to sweep me off my feet?
Is it because they think I won’t kick my feet wildly into the air and pound on their backs with my tiny fists as they carry me to the other side of that puddle? Because that’s simply not true. I know they like it when I act scared. That’s why whenever a puddle or patch of mud crosses my path, I place my white-gloved hands over my cheeks and scream bloody murder.
It’s supposed to be a subtle hint that I’m looking to get picked up, but does it work? No.
Or how about when I get home and I have an entire trunk full of groceries? Sure, the swamp monster may show up, but it’s like, hey fish breathe, NOT ME! The groceries! I need help carrying the GROCERIES!
But no matter how much I yell in his ear, he just doesn’t listen. Of course, my friend Janice says swamp monsters don’t understand English, but I disagree. I just think that’s what they WANT you to think. That way, they have an excuse to sit around on their lazy slimy butts when they don’t feel like carrying in groceries, mowing your lawn or helping you rearrange the living room furniture.
And what’s the deal with always carrying me to that same pile of wet, rotting leaves under Stony Creek Bridge? Hello!? You took me here last time you picked me up! How about a little variety? What if I don’t want sea algae and fish heads for once? Maybe I want Italian. Or Chinese.
And it’s like, hello. Obviously this is where you took your ex-kidnapped victims too. That pile of muddy sweaters and hair bows is a dead giveaway.
What? I’m not special enough to take to a new hideout? Pfft. Swamp monsters. Am I right, ladies?
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