I had burned the midnight-oil well past the somewhat misleading time-stamp of that antiquated saying, and was leaving the office when I caught a glimpse of a strange looking person standing beside my car. Strange how? I wouldn’t know for sure until I got closer...but it was after only a few steps towards the Mystery Man that I saw it: The Unibrow. Utterly without peer, this unibrow was as rich and full as the auburn-hair of a Golden Age movie starlet; I was captivated. Staring shamelessly at this man’s masterpiece of hirsuteness, it took me until I was within 3 feet of him to notice a strong resemblance to somebody I had met only recently.
Profoundly distracted by the majesty of his sincipital grooming, I had to force myself to catch the scaled-down monster-like visage beneath the flowing mane: Yes, it was Bernice Sheppenwastein’s deranged brother Sean...I was certain. Holding on to whatever shred of professionalism I had left after fawning so overtly at Sean’s eyebrow, I glanced down, purely out of curiosity, to see if he shared his sister’s multi-knuckled family trait; sure enough, what I saw at the end of his wrist looked more like a Rubik’s Cube than an actual hand...if knuckles were brains, Sean would be king several times over.
Snapping myself back from mentally processing what possible genetic mutation would cause gigantism & hands that appeared to be socks full of marbles, I deftly asked Sean what he wanted with me, what was so important that it couldn’t wait until after I had taken a long-overdue shower. His response was multi-faceted: First, a smirk, followed by a tittering giggle that was, to say the least, unnerving; then, after he had extricated that horrendous laugh from his pear-shaped frame, he reached out towards my face with that horrific appendage of his. Paralyzed, the way watching a traffic-accident coagulate on the roadway directly ahead shocks the brain into reacting slowly, I barely managed to slap away that repulsive "hand" and move forward into a more intensive line of questioning. Sean uttered the solitary phrase "predisposed monkeys...disinclined audience" while braying with infuriating laughter, and, what with all of the anagrams and freak-sister-dodging I had just gone through, I had every fiber in my body begging me to kick him in the neck. My interest would have been piqued, but it was all I could do not to scream with frustration at having to endure more time with this cackling jackass; at going yet another day without showering, another day of rubbing my temples and squeezing the last little bit of blood from the rock that was my brain.
After a tense back-and-forth, we finally agreed that I would be able to get some coffee before he unveiled the intricacies of his Master Plan; I would brew my coffee, as well as a plan to put an end to all of this over-thinking...and this hack-videographer’s vainglorious attempts at creating "news". This was a rainmaker-case, and I was ready to get soaked.
Entry 9
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