Thursday, February 7, 2013

Don't Go Into the Woods

I often spent weekends and chunks of summertime with a cousin who is the same age as me.  One day during the summer when we were 12, we were hanging out at her house.  My aunt was at work, and my cousin told me about how she believed that her next door neighbor had murdered his wife and is storing her dead body in the woods behind their houses.

She said that she had seen him on more than one occasion, usually in the evening, carrying a black trash bag into the woods, and then he would emerge from the woods empty-handed and go back into his house.  I declared this as the day that we investigate and get to the bottom of her suspicions.

That afternoon, we ventured into the woods behind her house, and sure enough there was a giant, black trash bag—my heart was pounding.  I carefully untied and opened it, and behold!  It was full of porn!  This guy didn’t murder his wife; he was avoiding being murdered by his wife, and so he hid his stash of porn in the woods behind his house like respectable husbands do.
 Porn was too obvious a choice for the photo

Neither of us had watched porn before, so this was a very exciting day for us.  We each selected a VHS that interested us from the bag, then we went to the gas station at the end of the block to get snacks—I believe we had Tahitian Treat sodie and some Quik bars [hey, remember Quik bars!?]—and then we went back to her house to watch some porn.  We watched it for hours, played it in fast forward, and giggled through the entire thing.  When we had enough, we snuck it back into the black trash bag, and then we emerged from the woods empty-handed and went back into her house.

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