I once worked with a very nice man who was famous around the office for using the phrase, “Well, you’re not going to believe this, but…”  He was also famous for using the phrase “Do you wanna see my scar?” and then lifting his shirt without giving you time to answer, but I’d like to focus on the former today, as I think it’s an appropriate segue into a couple of stories that I’d like to add to a new section of the blog we’re going to call, “The Wall of Weird.”  This is a direct rip-off of the WB show, “Smallville” in which local teen Chloe Sullivan chronicled all sorts of supernatural events in her school paper, and compiled the stories on a wall of the same name.  To my knowledge, the show never won any Emmys, but Lana Lang was ridiculously cute, and there was a section in the theme song where you could really belt out, “Somebody SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVE me!!” as a young Clark Kent came whizzing in to save a child from incineration by meteorite with his burgeoning powers while at the same time displaying the sort of teenage angst that could only be portrayed by a man in his early 30s.

Anyway, today’s entries into the Wall of Weird are the result of two different stories that I recently heard while traveling, and immediately had to scribble down because they were so outrageous that I knew they had to be shared with the world.  And while you may not have been aware, it is my selfless goal to be the mouthpiece that facilitates this sharing, in hopes that it might serve to enrich your lives, and generate gobs of selfless ad revenue for me.  I do it for the people – by which I mean the people I will hire to detail my Maserati when I’m filthy stinking rich.

The first of today’s stories comes from my sister-in-law, who was lucky enough to stumble upon a tale so outrageous that it spawned this whole new blog section!  You don’t come across stories like this every day, unless maybe you live in backwoods Appalachia or something.  It’s the kind of crazy that makes even the nuttiest among us feel sane, and causes you to wonder whether there are still any good funny farms around anywhere.  

What, you ask, could be so ridiculous as to warrant such a claim?  Excellent question!  I’m glad you asked – for this is a tale of love and loss, and the lengths to which we will go in order to preserve the memories of a beloved family member – even when the family member in question is a herd, or “business” (no, really!) of domestic ferrets…living in an apartment*.  I don’t believe their owner – we’ll call her “Enid”, because that seems like an appropriate name for a girl who lives alone and collects rodents – is currently seeing anyone, so if you’re interested, I suggest you click the “Ferret” box during your next Match.com search – you’re bound to find some interesting folks who could probably teach you a lot about ferrets.  But I wouldn’t eat anything out of their refrigerators if I were you, and here’s why:

This particular ferret fan, with whom my sister-in-law is acquainted, but is not “friends friends”, both volunteers at the local Ferret Association, and has – in addition to a couple of cats – a group of five ferrets currently LIVING IN HER HOME, which is enough to be officially considered an infestation in most states.  To say she is an enthusiast is probably an understatement – like saying that Hilary Clinton has ‘a couple of infractions’ on her record, or that Donald Trump is ‘sort of fond of himself’.  These are apparently very loving animals, which is exactly what you’d expect from a member of the weasel family,in spite of their being somewhat difficult to toilet train – which explains this rather unfortunate woman’s characteristic scent, described by those around her as Eau de Actual Toilet.  Anyway, money is tight down at the old Ferret Ranch on account of having so many tiny mouths to feed – not to mention the likely astronomical Resolve expenditures – and so, when one of these beloved pets dies, there’s not always money for a proper burial.  The way old Enid chose to deal with this heartbreaking situation was to store the dead ferrets in the freezer until she could afford the cremation costs.  I have it on good authority that the first of the ferrets died months ago, and that the current tally of freezer ferrets has climbed to seven.  At an average length of 20″, that’s nearly twelve feet (or about 21lb) of ferretcicles occupying this woman’s freezer!  

I proposed to my sister-in-law that a home-cremation via firepit or charcoal grill would be free, and solve the problem of encountering creepy dead freezer rats every time you reached for a Hot Pocket, but I got the impression she wasn’t going to pass those suggestions on.  She also said that, while she’s not sure, there’s a good chance Enid is replacing the animals as they die because again, she is “really into ferrets.”  Adding that, while she only recently learned about the death freezer, she was “not totally shocked”.  I feel like, if the police ever come to your house and find that you are “not totally shocked” that someone you know is storing dead ferrets in their freezer, there are going to be a lot of uncomfortable questions about why you didn’t come forward sooner to report the weirdo.  But to my original point, that’s why, if you find yourself in a relationship with a girl who’s really into evil weasels, you should probably just order in.

And now, as if that wasn’t good enough to kick off the Wall of Weird section all on its own, I’ve brought you this second story, all the way from a hotel bar in Florida, where I spent some time in preparation for an awkward dinner with a large group of coworkers.  A few of us decided to loosen up at the bar beforehand and, while chatting with the young woman serving drinks, heard the following spine-chilling tale of a jilted lover’s revenge, proving yet again that hell hath no fury like a five-foot-nothing pigtailed bar maiden:

“So I know this girl,” she started, “who got cheated on while she was pregnant.” You could tell by the look in her eye at this point that it was going to get good…”I’m not going to name names.” she said, following up 60 seconds later with “It was me.”  So apparently, this girl had come to realize that her baby daddy was engaged in a dalliance with another – shall we say – more ‘voluminous’ woman who’s undergarments were left behind in the apartment they were sharing at the time.  “And I had a pair just like them!” she said.   Playing devil’s advocate, I asked how she could be sure they weren’t hers.  “Because they were a large, and I’ve never worn anything more than an extra small!”  Bum Bum Buuuuummmm…being a couple of drinks in, I inquired what would make a man with an extra small girlfriend stray towards livestock – she wondered the same thing.  But the really good – and by good, I mean terrifying – part is what she did to get back at him.  Let me just say that I have never cheated on anyone, and I am happier about that life choice now than I have ever been.  So this bartender – this diminutive little mother, with short hair pulled back into little pigtail sprigs, responded by going online and ordering a box of Madagascar cockroaches.  I feel like we may have gone too far with the internet when you can have gigantic evil bugs shipped straight to your door.  If the FBI is looking for terrorists, the client list of cockroach websites seems like a good place to start.  Even if they’re not *technically* terrorists, I still think they should be captured and placed under observation in a Siberian nuthouse, because there is clearly something mentally wrong with them.  I can’t even bear to put a picture of those devil bugs here for fear that it might crawl off my screen and touch me… But this woman didn’t just have the cockroaches sent to her cheating ex, who she knew was terrified of them; no, she was much more diabolical than that.  First, she had them shipped to her house, where she removed all receipts and shipping evidence linking her to the package, then she tossed in the offending undergarments, and finally – and this is the kicker – she let the cockroaches out of their container so that they were free to wander around the inside of the box!!  She then resealed the package, and mailed it to her unwitting boyfriend who, she assured us, would have taken it straight to his room to open, and then probably thrown in terror, resulting in bugs the size of Volkswagons escaping and nesting all over his bedroom.  And that ladies and gentleman, is how you get closure!  After that we quickly finished up our drinks, made sure to tip well over 20%, and got the holy heck out of there.  The awkward dinner that lie ahead didn’t seem so bad at that point.

So there you have it – two solid entries into the wall of weird!  I hope you’ve enjoyed them as much as I did – if you have any stories of your own, feel free to let me know in the comments!  And remember to pick up Smallville on DVD – Lana Lang alone is worth the price, but you’ll also get Sarah Carter!  And for the ladies, Justin Hartley as Oliver Queen/Green Arrow!

 Like I always told my wife – Lana could save me any day, and…hey look!  I just got a package!

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* The security deposit has long been forfeit