Blue faces, shriveled hands clicking for SEX

Pretend you are reading a blog. On the internet. Now pretend that you hear someone scream from behind you.

Hold on, did you hear that? What was that... ok nevermind. Back to the hypothetical.

Pretend you are reading a blog by a man you do not know, let's say it's a blog that is usually about something funny. Full of little rich n'bitchin' rhyming witticisms and stacks of equivoques that you may or may not attempt to file away to claim as your own over some tea party conversation later on. But today it is different. Today you feel a lancinated dread. Foreboding. Pretend that all your little hairs stand up on end. Pretend to distract yourself from this gnawing disquiet by focusing on how to spell the word "apprehensiveness ". Pretend everything is going to be OK.

Quick, now pretend like the blog just got really really good and so you're staring at the screen, eyes locked in, racing over

line
after

line
after

line

as the tension builds and the plot thickens.
The blogger holds your attention rapt, churning out his words into some sort of rapidly accumulating crescendo (which you're not sure is actually going to pan out into anything since this IS a blog and in the land without editors, quaNTity always exceeds quaLity... but you're rooting for it to stay as good as it's been...) Pretend it's not boring. Pretend it's really interesting. Pretend that you don't notice there is a man sneaking up behind you with a serrated cooking KNIFE.

You're so rapt up in the blog, so on the edge of your seat that you're not even breathing, not even making a noise, not even aware of any of your surroundings. The man stands perfectly still, right behind you, and raises THE KNIFE up in front of him taking aim at the little spot on the very top of your head where he will plunge THE KNIFE down through your skull and straight through your brain, and then he will hack through the back of your spinal cord, ripping out everything in the back of your skull causing your body to go suddenly limp and lifeless. Once the twitching subsides he will push your bloody corpse out of its smelly seat and sit down in front of the computer himself, intent on checking his email... only to see the blog you were reading... still open... half read. He sees something of interest shine out at him. Maybe the word SEX. Maybe the paragraph about THE KNIFE. Whatever it is that catches his eye he's hooked and so he scrolls back up the top of the page

And then...

And then...

There's a scream. That scream that you ignored. There it is, that blood curdling scream. He looks down to where he threw your body but it's not there. You're not dead, you've crawled into the next room and are dialing 911! Screaming into the telephone!
Screaming for help when he storms in after you. To finish you off.
Screaming when he slashing THE KNIFE across your face and arms, slicing away at little chunks of your flesh...

Pretend you're reading a blog the author breaks the fifth wall and he tells you something. (I'm going to you tell you something). Not just telling 'you' in the generic Mr. or Mrs. Reader sense, but you, personally (You, I'm talking to You. Yes. Hello there.) Pretend that he tells you maybe you should lighten up and unplug for a little bit, (-- what he said...) try not to be so tense... ... get up and go do something.

Don't just pretend to get up. Go do it. But first leave a blog comment. Something that just screams "SEXy" Quick! I have to go get out my KNIVES...