There is a mutant in my kitchen

yaaaaaaargh!Ghosts, UFO’s and angry ex-girlfriends. I’ve dealt with them all. But, nothing could have prepared me for *the thing*.


During the course of my so far reasonably interesting life, I’ve had the shit scared out of me a few times. There was that time on the Isle of Man when myself and a friend were party to a haunting. Then there was the time that had a mexican stand-off with an angry badger. And I worked at the National Museum of Ireland for a few years where I saw shit that would make your hair stand on end.
But last night, I reached my threshold of terror.
It was about eleven o’ clock and after a discussion on the phone with a friend, I decided that I wouldn’t mind having a drink. In fact, I said to myself in a moment of fabulous clarity, I fancy a glass of Baileys. Yeah, Baileys. And I knew that I had seen a bottle lurking in a press somewhere downstairs. So, off I went. Ho de hum.
It took me ten minutes to locate the nebulous container: tucked away at the back of a press outside where, clearly, nobody had been in quite some time. So I grabbed the box and reefed it out happy that I was about to have a nice glass of Baileys and Ice and bog off to sleep.
Now, I don’t really know where to begin describing the sheer horror of what I discovered. In fact, basic common decency prevents me from posting a picture of the item in question. If you want to see it, you can click on this link and go have a look. I have never seen such a foul-looking, flesh-crawlingly hideous object in my entire life. I am giving serious consideration to sending a photo of ‘the thing’ to National Geographic and seeing do they want to run a special on it. Either that or I sell it to Weta and see can they use it in their next movie.
I’m serious here folks, I had problems sleeping last night with the knowledge that ‘the thing’ was downstairs, tied up in a plastic bag. Just festering. Lurking. Seething in the thrash.
I do not feel well.

damien

Damien DeBarra was born in the late 20th century and grew up in Dublin, Ireland. He now lives in London, England where he shares a house with four laptops, three bikes and a large collection of chairs.


4 comments

  1. This raises all kinds of thoughts. Firstly, I heard of a friend’s mother bringing her dodgy bottle back to the Bailey’s factory – and was promptly handed some new, full bottles.
    Secondly – Diageo claims that ’43 percent of the milk produced in Ireland goes into Bailey’s Irish Cream,’
    Thirdly, have you EVER seen the Bailey’s factory on the Nangor Road in Dublin? It completely spoils the image of the product of a lush, pastoral green Ireland.
    Bailey’s FAQ will answer some questions for you:
    http://www.baileys.com/en-row/Footer/FAQ.htm

  2. My mother-in-law would probably tell you that there’s nothing wrong with that potato. Just cut off the, ummm, eyes(?), roots(?), whatever-the middle is still good. On another note, once upon a time in NH, I kept a bag of potatos in a cabinet – maybe a bit too long – forgot about them until a oozy sludge appeared on the kitchen floor below the cabinet door with a smell so heinous as to fell birds from flight. I do believe the current tenant of that prestigous abode still keeps no less than 3 boxes of baking soda in said cupboard. I truly believe potatos were sent from aliens in a plot to take over the world, or maybe just ireland, or sent by the irish, i dunno, i keep getting that thought confused 🙂

  3. They call me tater salad…
    Good Lord! That’s something I’d expect to find in Senor Burns’ pantry. That or Withnail’s sink…I think you should cook it up and feed it to someone unsuspecting, sit back…and watch.

  4. Sweet Jesus Dat Ting has evolved beyond a mere spud. It has a mind of its own and what would appears to be a hankering for alcohol. I would like to sign it to multiyear film contract with Chiller Theater. Does it have an email address?

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