williamallenpepper

Here's a blog because NOBODY else has one!

WORST GAME OF MUSICAL CHAIRS EVER

electric wheelchair photo

So, on this one stretch of my commute, on a busy road where the quasi-residential area creeping out from high school gives way to the big grocery store, there sits a nondescript little white house. Nondescript in all but one way. Well, two ways. One way of describing the white house is “white”. But this nondescript house has another descriptor:

HOUSE OF DEATH

Well, it’s not an official title or anything. But I’m thinking of calling it that. So, pull your blanket up over your head and grab hold of the living thing or whisky bottle which provides you the most comfort because I’m going to tell you why this is THE HOUSE OF DEATH.

Wait. Put the blanket down first. You can’t read this post with a blanket over your head. I SAID “PUT THE BLANKET DOWN!”

Ready?

You sure?

Okay. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Several weeks ago, I drove by the nondescript* (*except as noted above) house and only noticed it that day because there was an electric wheelchair much like the one pictured above (Thanks, Google!) with a generic FOR SALE sign on the seat.

Huh.

It flashed through my mind how sad it must be that this person’s mom or dad or grandparent or something had done and now they were left to try to raise some cash selling the deceased’s wheelchair.

But then the next day…

There were two chairs in the yard.

And the day after that….Three.

Ever since that first day, the number of chairs has fluctuated between one and three. Sometimes the chairs are red and sometimes blue. They always have a FOR SALE sign on them. It’s such a standard pattern now that it’s obvious what’s going on.

WHOEVER LIVES IN THE NONDESCRIPT WHITE HOUSE IS KILLING THE OLD AND INFIRM AND THEN SELLING THEIR CHAIRS. AND NOW, INSTEAD OF BEING “NONDESCRIPT” THE HOUSE IS CLEARLY A GATEWAY TO A NON-HANDICAPPED ACCESSIBLE HELL”

What else could it be?

I wanted to get a picture of the actual scene, but it’s a busy street, difficult to just stop and snap a pic. Also, you know, demons.

And, side note, who the hell is buying a used wheelchair someone parks in their front yard?

So, listen, if you or someone you love uses an electric wheelchair, watch your back. Or his! Or hers! ’cause these very distinct, nondescript, white house demons are coming for you. And, as far as I know, they don’t take credit cards.

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