Blue’s Clues and Conspiracies

This article isn’t funny. Don’t laugh. My eyes have been tainted and scarred. This is not a comedy; it’s a tragedy. It’s like watching driver’s ed. videos for personal enjoyment. You know, the ones where the windshield is shattered and there’s a ridiculous amount of fake blood and the sheriff’s standing there with a trench coat and a cigar, just shaking his head: “If only her friends had taken her keys…” Multiply that by ten, add in a gruesome train wreck, and that’s what I recently witnessed.

I was returning to my room, whistling and thinking about gummy bears and Sunday school. Smile beaming, I walked into my room and shouted, “Hey, buddy!”

There, on his bed, was my roommate Gerry Monroe and his girlfriend, Sheila. Sheila is a morbidly obese woman with a mullet. They were tangled up in an odd octagon of flesh, her K-mart apron hanging by the bed end. It was as if I had just turned on the Discovery Channel. I stood there slackjawed and staring in horror at the jumbled chaos before me.

Gerry looked over and gave me the thumbs-up.

I promptly exited and vomited out my spleen. How could he do this? How could he turn my room into a carnival of the bizarre? I brushed my teeth 306 times that night and considered, for a while, burning all of my clothes and sleeping in the trash room down the hall.

It got worse. For the next two weeks, I came back and heard them squealing and snorting in the room. My room took on a funny smell. I felt as if, in order to enter, I didn’t need a key anymore; I needed a handful of quarters and a bottle of rum in a paper bag. I had been, in effect, sexiled from my room.

I’m afraid to sit on things. I’ve decided to put down plastic couch covers and to spray everything with cleaning fluid at least 12 times a day. Everything I own now has been shellacked in disinfectant. I bought an oil drum of Lysol. Yet I’m still uncomfortable!

So here is my list of ways to take care of sexilation. I hope it helps you as well as me. I mean, I can peel only so many more of Sheila’s back hairs out of the carpet. -Walk in with a bowl of popcorn and a chair. Sit down and watch. Resist the impulse to stab out your eye with anything sharp. Watch, smile and even applaud if you so desire. When the action stops and things get awkward, pull out a pair of old-fashioned binoculars such as those which women use at the opera, and peer at the protagonists.

-Walk in with a sombrero and a guitar and sing “Michael Row Your Boat Ashore.” In Spanish. Urge the stars to sing along and even nudge them with the head of your guitar. But if the leading lady is anything like Sheila, be careful. You might lose your guitar.

-Walk in dressed as the Grim Reaper. Stand, looming over them, sickle in hand. When they notice you, glance at your watch impatiently.

-Come in dressed in a beekeepers’ outfit and spray them with pesticide, using your free hand to whack at them with a flyswatter. If you so choose, you can replace the poisonous gas with simple cologne or, if the situation has irritated you enough, use actual pesticide.

-Bring a group of school children in like a tour group. Point your roommate and his friend out to them as if on display. “And this is where little baby gorillas are made…” But please, no flash photography. It may enrage the beasts.

-Good luck and remember: A bed covered in tar may be uncomfortable to sleep in, but it will sure as hell stay clean.