I’ve decided to start posting character ideas and short story concepts for anyone that wants them. –Also to remind me to get off the dime and write more.
I have an unwelcome house guest. A damned pixie moved in.
I tried calling a pest control company. The woman that answered sounded sincerely sympathetic while she explained that Pixies were on the endangered species list, but In the background, I heard people laughing…. Assholes.
After seeing shows like Peter Pan, the image that springs to mind when you hear the word “pixie;” is a cute little girl with wings. Right?
Well, I honestly believe that it was someone’s attempt at humor because in real life they look more like a horsefly.
On top of having an ugly house guest, I have to watch where I sit or stand and I had to put locks on my cupboards because it turns out the miserable little bitch isn’t housebroken. Trust me, there’s nothing like reaching for a coffee cup and getting a handful of pixie shit to kick-start your day.
Have you every smelled pixie shit? It’s kind of like a combination of ammonia and skunk. It makes cat piss smell like roses.
Here’s the kicker: it turns out that Pixie dust is just sparkly pixie dandruff. It’s just like cat dander, and it causes the same sort of allergic reaction. Complete with wheezing, uncontrolled sneezing, and blurry, watery eyes.
I’ve taken to locking my bedroom door to keep it a pixie dust-free zone. But every night she bumps up against the door, over and over, all the while buzzing like a housefly trying to get through a closed window.
You know, I read an article that said pixies are smarter than most dogs. Well, if they are, then I got the one that rode to school on the short bus. I mean, how freaking smart can she be if she can’t figure out that the door is closed and she’s not getting in?
The other day I couldn’t take it anymore and threw a bottle of Aqua Velva at her.
All that did was break the bottle and leave a mess for me to clean up. Which, by the way, she loved. That’s how I found out that pixies find the combination of perfume and alcohol in aftershave to be irresistible. Now my apartment not only smells like aftershave mixed with pixie shit, I’ve got a drunken pixie to deal with. No wonder my friends refuse to come over.
I spoke to a professor who’s published a number of books on the supernatural and such. He said she bothers me because she likes me.
There is a God, and she hates me.