Posted: March 8, 2007 in Blitherings, Creative Writing, Random Thoughts

At the moment, the air conditioner is making some disturbing noises vaguely reminiscent of the gurgling in my lower intestines a few hours after downing an oversized chipolte chicken burrito and two Dos Equis in rapid succession.  I’m not sure if I should have a barf bag or a drip pan handy, but I’m pretty sure that such sounds in humans generally lead to temporary hospitalization, or at the very least some quick outpatient physical therapy at the local UrgentCare.  I can only imagine the result in a cantankerous home appliance.

It sounds like some sort of alien lifeform is poised to burst through the front panel and skitter across the floor with an ear-piercing shriek, dripping freon and compressor lubricant across the indoor-outdoor carpeting.  Then I’ll have to crawl through the heating ducts with a homemade flamethrower and a flashlight, and trust me, no one wants that.

I must admit to a certain sense of, well, reluctance to go to sleep with that thing pinging, chorgling, and blurpening just a few feet away.  I’m more than a little afraid of what may come squirming, crawling, or flying out of the vents while I sleep.  Something undeniably nasty, no doubt.  Something which requires unprotected human nasal passages in which to breed.  Something which lays eggs amidst the accumulated earwax of its unsuspecting host, or suspends its egg sac from the uvula of some poor sap with an unfortunate tendency to sleep with his mouth open.  No one I know like that around here, of course.

Oh jeez.  Now its pissed.  I think it knows I’m talking about it.  That last one was more than a mere gurgle.  Something more akin to a cough, or a grunt.  Maybe the sudden convulsive hack you make when you suck in a gnat while out for your morning jog.  Something internal clearly has broken loose from its mooring or bracket or brace or whatever.  Now it has the distinctive air of an Freddy Krueger soundtrack, all hissing, clanking steam pipes and the disharmonic tapping of steel fingers along the casing of some low-pressure feed valve.

Nope.  Definitely sleeping in the guest room tonight.  As long as that space heater with the unfortunate sense of humor keeps to itself.


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