For those who are sceptical of the paranormal and supernatural; this is for you, the true story of a haunted chair.
You must have seen them: the modern snake-oil peddlers at the shopping malls. Everything – from dream holidays, to sports utility vehicles, to vitamin creams – is on sale. The salespeople are usually young, nice looking, and full of artificial friendliness and fake smiles.
Luckily, the wife and I are streetwise and hardly ever fall for their cons.
This happened three weeks ago at the mall:
“Sir, this Nissan Bundu Basher MkXI will take you to those far-off places that no one has ever seen before,” the sales chappie with insincere smile tells me.
“Ma’am, if you use our Night Miracle Cream, your wrinkles, sagging breasts, and grey hair will be a thing of the past. But that’s not all! Your figure and libido shall be restored. You will look like a twenty-year-old beauty queen within three weeks, or your money back,” beams the girl with the pink hair at my wife.
So I decide to buy two canisters of the Cream – reasoning that with the wife all rejuvenated, revitalised, and recharged, and all and all – who needs the Nissan for those far-off places? Streetwise, right?
At another time, a young chap – looking decidedly *light on his feet – approached me in the mall. “You’ve simply got to try this. It’s just to die for, dahling,” he lisps, while producing a fancy little bottle with a rubber bulb attached to it. Before I could recover, he sprayed a mist, consisting of millions of sex-starved pheromones onto my jacket. Well, I tell you! The stuff actually worked! For the rest of that day I had to fight off hoards of his friends who tried to kiss me. Bliksem. Was I glad when the stuff finally wore off!
And then, last week at the mall, I had a terrible experience. Picture this:
There’s was **guy standing next to an enormous black leather chair. There were wires, and screens, and posters, and stuff, all over the place. I tried to navigate my way around this maze, but this guy was good – even better that other unspeakable gay guy with the pheromones. Quick as a flash he pushed me down in the chair and pressed the “power on” button.
Good grief! The Horror! The evil chair came alive! First, the whole frame started to vibrate like an old Dakota about to take off. It grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and showered me with love bites while massaging my calves. It licked my lower spine and ribcage. It pummelled my sacroiliac and various other unmentionable parts of my anatomy.
Forbidden scenes of Bondage, Discipline, Sadism, and Communism, flashed through my mind. I was helplessly in love!
Then, I kid you not – just before I blacked out – the haunted chair ***goosed my bottom. I nearly died from embarrassment!
Luckily, the evil contraption was controlled by an electronic timer and I managed to escape just moments after it was switched off. I needed a cigarette.
So now you have been warned. Evil lurks where you least expect it – be on your guard. That’s all I’m saying.
*light on his feet – don’t worry, I shall never be calling anyone a “moffie” after the negative comments from some gay people, on a previous article of mine
**guy – not a moffie
***to goose – from Ye Olde English, meaning: “to pinch someone's buttocks, hopefully of the opposite sex”
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