Ha. Ben Folds is awesome.

What the hell is so awesomely wrong with Stephen Colbert?

I woke up this morning, grabbed my laundry and finally dragged it out to get cleaned. I was very proud of myself- this laundry has been sitting in its basket, staring at me, for about three weeks now. But today was finally the day; I got on it immediately. And how did the universe reward my initiative, my productivity?

The first thing I stepped on upon leaving my apartment was a dead fish.

There was a dead fish wrapped in a tissue outside my apartment.

Dead fish. In a tissue.

Why was there was a dead fish wrapped in a tissue immediately outside my apartment? I couldn’t tell you. Perhaps someone was walking by with a carton of dead fish wrapped in tissues, and one fell out. Either he didn’t notice (I’m assuming, I think correctly, that this would be a man) because he had so many other dead fish wrapped in tissues to begin with, or he did notice, but left it, thinking to himself, “Who cares? I have so many other dead fish wrapped in tissues to begin with.”

Now, lest you think I’m over reacting, let me assure you that this is not an isolated incident. Some weeks ago (about three laundry cycles (they’re almost aligning with the moon now, so they’re a good way for me to keep track of long stretches of time)), I left my apartment to find a dead bird on my block. Note that I didn’t say, “in front of my apartment,” but, “on my block.” Because this dead bird wasn’t in front of any one door, or any two doors, or even any three doors. This bird, or rather, its many scattered pieces, had been spread up an down my block, by what I can only assume was a frenzied dog or an overzealous Santaria sect. That bird’s innards colored my lovely sidewalk for a good ten days before the city finally came and picked him up (“You said he’s in front of your door, Mr. Curry?” “Well, yes, in front of my door, and my neighbors’ door, and their neighbors’ door, and their neighbors’-” “I’m sure the workers will see it when they arrive.”).

But back to my fish. It wasn’t just that there was a dead fish wrapped in a tussue outside my apartment this morning, it was that I stepped on it before I was aware of what it was. When I looked down at first, I thought, “Why did someone wrap a four-inch long stick in tissue-” Then I looked closer, and my mind developed its own gag reflex right then and there, to say nothing of my body’s. In saying this, let me also remind my numerous interested readers that one of the many jobs I’ve held was on a trail crew at a New Jersey state park. During this job, I encountered some Santaria worship sites the morning after- I have seen a dead chicken stuck to a tree with a knife jutting through its torso, and then I have seen what happens when that knife is quickly removed (Chicken and Chicken Guts spill all over the ground.). I have also had to bury a dead dog that washed up from the Hudson River. To do this, I had to pick the dog up, with my gloved hands, and get it into a Hefty ten-gallon-

I think I can spare you that part of the story. Suffice it to say, I am not a squeamish person, if I know what it is I’m looking at or stepping on in my bumming-around-the-house-day shoes (these shoes are old and not very substantial). So, upon realizing that I had stepped on and was looking intently at was not a four-inch long stick, but rather a four inch long dead fish wrapped in a tissue, my first thought was, “EEEAEEAAYYYYYAGAAAAHHHAHAHAHHAGGGGAGHAH!!!!!”

Of course, my second thought was, “This would make a great blog post.”