On the Trail of the Blobbit (FF)

 © Copyright – Rachel Bjerke

As they arrived in the clearing, Hayes and Biggins were certain they had at long last found what they sought.

"We've done it, Biggins!" said Hayes. "We've finally succeeded in tracking the Blobbit's lair by following his nightly call."

"And to think," replied Biggins, "neither you nor I has ever actually seen a Blobbit." 

"I'm going to inspect his dwelling place," ventured Hayes, as he cautiously approached the dwelling's entrance and entered.

"No, no, Hayes!"  cried Biggins.   

It was too late.  The entrance closed around Hayes, fully enveloping him.

"Blobbit!  Blobbit!  Blobbit!"

"Darn it," said Biggins, "another second and I'd have recognized the Blobbit's eyes and mouth!  But I'll bet you Friday Fictioneers saw this contrived ending coming a mile away."

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Yeah, this is kind of your standard issue "wild creature or alien unexpectedly turns out to eat people" story.  I think it's registered as Lame Storyline No. 37A in the annals of "Friday Fictioneer Desperation," last published Feb, 2013.

But what do you want from me?  I haven't had my laptop in a week. I'm lucky I still remember how to type!  At least you have about 100 other stories to chose from, none of them hopefully mentioning the Blobbit or any fascimile thereof, by clicking here.

"Blobbit!  Blobbit!  Blobbit!"  I gotta say that Hayes was tasty!

Beware the LOJM!

 The LOJM?

I’ve never been one to believe in tall tales, myths, and urban legends.

I don’t believe the tooth fairy could ever turn a profit on used enamel, doubt the existence of Bigfoot, Nessie, and writers on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon because there’s just no evidence for them, and scoff at aliens crash-landing at Roswell NM because beings that advanced would know there’s no other place to crash-land than Vegas, baby, Vegas!

But all of you, please: Beware the LOJM!

Today is September 12, 2010. On this day I am 35 years old, just as I have always been and always will be. But today somehow the rest of the world will look upon me and see something obscene, loathsome, and truly terrifying!

The world will see a dude who’s 60.

Beware the LOJM (pronounced “LOW-JIM”)!

Known more formally as the “Little Old Jewish Man,” the LOJM is a foul and malignant creature indigenous to the geographical environs of the greater Philadelphia PA area. And I am its victim!

The LOJM stalks me as if I were Jennifer Aniston.

Anymore, I can’t even have my picture taken in peace. The instant a camera is produced, the LOJM dashes in front of me with blinding speed. He’s kind of like the DC Superhero the Flash if the Flash were equipped with the additional superpower of being able to speak fluent deli.

The LOJM next freezes himself between me and the camera, musters his most hideous visage, then blazes off as soon as the picture is snapped! Were it not for the quick tell-tale glimpse of a blurred and vibrating white belt and plaid polyester pants, I would not perceive the fiend at all.

But then I see the picture!

No winning boyish grin, smooth and supple cheeks, or lush brown hair swooping low across my forehead.

It is the LOJM!

The creature has even mastered the power to make a person invisible! How else to explain that a trim, handsome 35 year old such as myself can walk the streets of Center City Philadelphia without a lick of attention?  The LOJM directs the flow of humankind away from me so effectively that it seems almost as if people are crossing the street to avoid me --- sometimes swiftly and directly into the paths of onrushing traffic! 

No one ever checks me out on the streets of the city short of an ambitious and forward-thinking salesperson from Levine’s Funeral Home.

No one walks up to me to strike up a conversation unless the operative words are “stick ‘em up, grandpa!”

Beware the LOJM!

Most wicked and perverse of all is what the beast LOJM has done to my relations with the fair sex --- you know, “the babes,” as we 35 year olds call them. He has cast a spell of avuncularity upon me!

Thanks to this spell, no women under the age of 55 can visualize an encounter with me to consist of anything spicier than sipping herbal tea and sharing the New York Times Crossword Puzzle.  A far more proper encounter for one in the prime of life such as I would have the two of us sharing matters a bit more intimate than the seven letter answer to No. 24 Down and me sipping something way tangier than herbal tea!

Curse you, LOJM!

Avuncularity may have its place, but only when it’s Hanukkah and your uncle is Steven Spielberg.

Beware the LOJM!

Now it is September 12, and the LOJM of Philly invades my very birthday celebration! Halt, you fakockt fiend! Be gone, you evil alte cocker! Can’t a guy turn and remain 35 in peace?

It’s my party and I'll cry if I want to, cry if I want to, cry if I .....

Wait minute. If I’m 35 years old, why am I singing an old Lesley Gore song that only a 60 year old Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute Baby Boomer would know?

Do you never miss a trick, you Meshugana Monster?!

Beware the LOJM!



~~~~~~~~~~

And just when you thought it was safe to have another birthday, it's  Beware the LOJM! II