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My Curse

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Ok, so here’s the story of my curse.

It only took 2 days, but the roots go back to April 2004.

When we moved into our house and needed furniture we bought a divan bed from Argos. It wasn’t the best bed in the world, but we knew it’d do us for the time being. I put the thing together and that night we partied at the sight of the new bed. I flung myself onto it in an ecstatic joy and heard a crack. Yep. One of the spars/struts/lumps of wood had cracked. We’d had the bed for around 3 hours. Fortunately for me, the crack happened on Mrs Moosehunter’s side of the bed at knee level. We tested it and it still held our weight so we lived with it.

Towards the end of the year we decided we’d like a nice pine headboard for it and her parents bought us a nice one for Christmas. Lovely.

About two months ago Mrs Moosehunter sat on her side of the bed and disappeared up to her armpits in the drawer underneath. The crack had finally given way. In order to manage until we could get a new bed, we used a load of laminate flooring planks to support the mattress. It worked but was uncomfortable (for her, of course, not for me) and twice a day she grazed her leg on the edge of the flooring.

So we bought a new bed. This time we splashed out and sent £150 on a nice pine bed from a store I used to work in. I was working, so Mrs Moosehunter put the bed together with me coming in for the finale and adding a couple of touches like the cavalry in an Audie Murphy western movie. Joy. A new bed. That night we went to sleep on it and it made an awful lot of creaking, groaning noises. Now I’ll admit that neither of us is svelte and athletic, but we’re not bloated dirigibles either. I worried. We used an old towel torn into strips to pad certain parts of the wood and stop the worst of the noises.

Here we take an aside and a leap forward to Sunday. We’d had a damn good Friday night and Saturday, so we came back to the house on Sunday morning for a day of relaxation and getting all those fiddly jobs out of the way (oiling the weasel flaying machine, writing the South Park operetta… all those things I want to do but have no time.) I decide to install the DVD writer I’ve just got in my PC.

(It’s at this point that God’s Cursegun swings around and picks me up in its sights. There are a few beeps and he says “yes, the Moosehunter seems to be enjoying himself too much.”)

I remove my old DVD drive from the PC and swap it for the writer. Now I have quite reasonable PC hardware skills and DO know what I’m doing. Hunky dory. I switch the machine back on…

(Blam. God grins as he shouts at one of his Elves to reload – or is that Santa?)

The PC will no longer switch on. I do some judicious swearing, smoke a cigarette and curse the world in general. After some in-depth research, a glass of bourbon and some more swearing, I find that the boot sector on my hard drive has gone. Yay. I got the DVD writer so that I could back up all my stuff (I have enough photos to fill 10 CDs, so DVD was the way to go.) In putting in the thing I need to do my full backup, I’ve killed the PC. I take a deep breath and find a second hard drive, install windows on that with my main hard drive as a secondary one. That way I’ll still have all my stuff.

(“Fire two and bring the mega-curse chain detonation missile!” Evil God-Elves scurry around finding armament.)

Guess what. The entire hard drive has become corrupt. Argh. All I’ve got is a piddly small drive which can barely hold Windows XP, let alone games like Cowhunter, Find the Breast and Kick the Midget. Argh. Curse!

There follows a stint of many hours of trying to resurrect my PC. During this time I become unbearable to be around. Mrs Moosehunter keeps telling me to calm down (despite the fact that she’s got a temper that would have Vlad the Impaler hiding in a closet!) I drink most of a bottle of bourbon, swear in five languages and make a number of new words up when I run out. I smoke like a Victorian factory chimney. In the end, in despair at around 11ish, Mrs Moosehunter goes to bed and I go in to join her.

God’s alarm clock ticks round until the small hand points to ‘F**k Him’ and the bell goes off. God wakes in a bleary haze, grabs his intercom and shouts “Fire!”)

I sit on the side of the bed to take off my socks and…

Go through it!

Damn. Goddam bastard sh*t bastard evil bed-making divine Elf bastards.

Our new bed. A good quality one. It’s broken.


Monday dawns after having spent Sunday night lying in the middle of the bed with Mrs Moosehunter crammed on her side, with… you guessed it… the planks of Laminate Flooring supporting my side.

I go to work feeling glum and angry.

(One of God’s evil Elves spends the morning looking in the sighting scope and trying to find me. Finally, he lights on me at work, checks in with the boss and… “Fire!”)

During the day, Mrs Moosehunter calls to tell me that the car (which went in on Monday for a service and MOT) is going to cost us around £500.

That’s it. In two days, we’ve suffered a £150 bed casualty, £500 car problems and I’ve trashed a £1,000 PC (when it was originally bought.)

The curse goes on. I’m starting to peek nervously round corners before I walk in case a belligerent 4 ton elephant is bearing down on me wearing a sign that says ‘A present from God.’



Written by SJAT

August 20, 2009 at 12:56 pm

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