So I’ve something that I want to get off my chest. It’s a little inappropriate I guess, but we’ve all shared somethings here at The Kids Don’t Get It, that I think it’s safe to regard this Sanctum Sanctorium as our personal safe space. No judgements, no ridicule, just us, in our raw, open, beautiful selves.
We in agreement with that? Yes? Ok.
There, I said it. Damn I feel good.
No really, that’s been weighing on me for awhile now.
I do, though, I really do.
I mean, have you seen a midget before? I don’t mean like The Wizard of Oz or on http://www.hotmidgetbanging.com
I mean really ever seen one. In the flesh.
It’s totally totally creepy.
I only have like 3 phobias in life: midgets, old people and the homeless. In that order. I typically, instinctively hold my breath when I am around any member of these groups until I am no longer around them.
Go ahead and laugh, but it’s true.
But midgets are #1 with a bullet.
As a matter of fact, I’m more afraid of midgets then bullets. If I was a superhero and my nemesis was pointing a gun at me and said, “Negromancer*, you’ve just met your end”, I’d laugh and say, “Your bullets can’t hurt me” and then catch the bullet in my teeth like that guy in The Last Dragon.
But if he said, “Ah, but these aren’t bullets–these are midgets” and cocked back on the pistol, I’d pull my mother in front of the gun and let the midget explode against her chest.
And then I’d retire from crime-fighting.
That’s how scared I am of midgets and I’m totally sorry if any of the readers out there are actually midgets or are related to midgets or married to midgets. By all means, start a blog too and defend yourselves.
I’ll even help you out: http://www.stubbyjoints.wordpress.com
And now, a detailed listing of the rationale for my midget-fear:
- Their fingers: Have you ever shaken a hand with a midget? I met one once in Houston, and besides urinating on myself repeatedly, I remember one other thing clearly: the handshake. If you don’t come across midgets in your everyday life (and why should you unless you live somewhere like Narnia) here’s a simple way to experience what I did. Go to 7-11. Buy a pack of Gummi Worms. Sit in the car. Open the pack and dump them into your hand. Now wriggle the Gummi Worms around in your hand. Yeah, you feel that? That wriggly, stickiness? That’s what it’s like.
- Their butts: I take dumps a lot. You know that, I know that. But midget butts look like they are constantly carrying a load in the back. I daresay that it was a midget ass that inspired the term “junk in the trunk”. Other possibilities of what’s in there: candy. Lucky Charms. Heads of cabbage. Midget spawn (think Gremlins).
- Their social circle: It’s a fact that just like any other demographic, midgets like to roll together. Like Blacks. Like gays. Like hipsters. It’s just brass tacks logic. I live in a city, so I see all these groups around town on a regular basis, so I rarely bat an eye and I rarely feel threatened by them. But how would you react if you saw a gaggle (I believe that’s the term) of midgets? Let’s say for example, you’re walking out of the movie theatre with your woman, and step out onto the street and there’s a gaggle of midgets shootin’ craps on the sidewalk? Or they’re laying about on the hood of your car, kicking their little Cabbage Patch feet against the car and they’re little L.A. Gear sneakers are lighting up, mocking you? You’re probably like, “man, I’d take my shoe off and fuck those midgets up”. Yeah, you’d probably say something real tough like “Watch this baby; I’m about to beat the diapers off these Fraggles”. But you’d be wrong, my friend. Because I don’t think midgets fight alone and they definitely don’t fight cleanly. As a matter of fact, I am convinced that when provoked, the gaggle will converge and turn into a single super-midget. At that point it’d be like fighting Voltron. Their feet would be roaring at you and everything.
So, there you have it. That’s my detailed list of reasons. As you can see, my fears are justified.
Hell, I didn’t even go into how they can camouflage themselves everywhere. Oh; you thought that was just a lawn jockey, did you?
*Negromancer is also the name of my nubian romance novel