When I first moved to the big city, because I was trying to save money, I moved into a sketchy neighbourhood. When Boy and I moved in together, we moved three blocks away from my old apartment in same sketchy neighbourhood.
The neighbourhood was populated by the kind of eclectic characters you find in sketchy places.
There was the Zombie couple who shuffled up and down the streets in dirty sweatpants.
There was the guy who wore a bedsheet as a cape and talked about The Apocalypse.
There was the guy who wore rollerskates and precariously perched on top of a fire hydrant, his right hand inside a puppet with whom he would have long and intense discussions about the Mayor.
There was the woman who smashed a seemingly endless supply of dishes in the middle of the road.
There was the little Asian dude who threw baby blocks at streetcars and yelled obscenities about Don Johnson (I have no idea why he did this but I suspect he endured some sort of Clockwork Orange scenario with episodes of Miami Vice).
And of course, saving the best for last, there was our neighbour, Porny McWackerson, who bore a strange resemblace to a hippie Bob Balaban and who had a wall of televisions in the corner of his window all constantly displaying different tranny porns. He also had no blinds covering the money shot area of his bed. You’re welcome.*
But we got tired of that so we decided to move west into a much nicer neighbourhood.
For the first week we were there, it was incredibly disconcerting. We felt a strange sense of relief that we were not always having to dodge weirdos popping out of alleyways but there was always a strange sense of dread because we couldn’t help but wonder where the weirdos were. Were they holed up inside our building? Where they hiding behind our new neighbourhood’s perfectly manicured bushes?
It all seemed too perfect, and for a long time, it remained that way. Until recently. Because ladies and gentlemen, we have found the weirdos. And the weirdos have dolls.
A little while ago, we were walking home from grocery shopping when we saw a life-sized life-like doll in the window of one of our neighbour’s house. At the time, we commented on how creepy looking it was and continued on home. However, an hour or so ago, I got a panicked phone call from Boy telling me that there was another one. In the window of a house directly across the way from ours.
“It’s staring at me and its creepy, penitrating, shirtless gaze is freaking me out!” He said.
I immediately made a joke about how the other one we passed on the way home from groceries was obviously amassing an army and this new one was obviously a scout, dispatched to find out where we live so that, when the dolly uprising comes, we’ll be the first to go. But this made him even more uneasy.
“It’s staring at me!” he insisted.
I sighed. “All right,” I said, “Send me a picture.”
And sent me a picture he did. And I’ve got to say, he’s actually kind of right about it being creepy.
It knows it’s being photographed!
Honestly, now, staring at it, I can’t help but wonder what on earth would possess someone to:
a) buy a life-sized life-like doll.
b) prop it up in the window to scare innocent passersby.
I mean seriously, is this some new Polish Grandmother security device I haven’t heard about yet? Like if someone breaks into your house, the doll comes to life and starts pummeling the $h!t out of them? Because then, not only would it stop them from stealing anything but give them nightmares for the rest of their life?
Actually, that would be kind of awesome. Can you imagine if it was a movie? Too bad Ah-nuld isn’t doing movies anymore because I could totally see him doing the voice of the killer doll and saying a puny line like “Batteries definitely not included” when he ripped off the head of an intruder trying to steal grandma’s crystal candy-dish.
I think I might have to write this movie now. And if I don’t, well then it’s probably because the devil dolls have got me. Viva la plastic revolution!
* For the mental image and for being reminded of who Bob Balaban was.
**If you want to read more about crazy doll people, Tara Ariano of Television Without Pity wrote a funny little piece here.**