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Kung Fu instead of Ethics

It Happened One ConBust

I used to be all impressed and slightly worried about horror story writers because I always wondered what sort of imagination they had to have to come up with the stuff they come up with. Then we went out for dinner at ConBust and I realized horror writers are just people that get themselves in odd situations. Note:

Saturday the Guests were invited to Jenny Breedon's brother's house for dinner. The brave ConBust runners loaded up ConBust guests to drive them out to almost the middle of nowhere for a homemade spaghetti extravaganza; it took about 3 cars. To be fair, 5 miles out of Northampton seems to get middle of nowhere-y really darned fast but we had been invited over last year so we were vaguely familiar with the way. Sort of. Mostly.

Our trip started with the four of us, our intrepid ConBust liaison, an extremely annoying GPS (which was kept off because it's bitchy), an address and directions. Off we went! We wandered here and there looking for a road beginning with 'E' (OK, so maybe not the best directions) off to our left which we thought wouldn't be too hard to find. We drove and drove and drove, up and up a long wendy a mountain (fortunately, these are more like foothill mountains). Still no 'E' road off to our left. We crested the mountain and then drove down and down and down and...ran out of road. Uh-oh.

OK, we didn't exactly run out of road since we found ourselves at a T intersection, but we ran out of road which should have had an 'E' road off to the left of it. Our awesome ConBust driver turned right to find a spot to pull into so she could call for directions and the only place nearby was this desolate looking farmhouse.

Did I mention that Your Friendly Neighborhood Promotions Ninja did not heed her mommy's oft advice of "Go before you start a trip"? You know, because we were just going to be out for 20 minutes...no problem!

Anyway, The Earl chuckled and said "I've seen this movie where tourists pull in to use the bathroom. It does not end well." I wondered for whom it was going to go badly because there is the tourists who drive up to use the bathroom and wreak holy hell on the natives story as well as the tourists who drive up to use the bathroom and are systematically eliminated (ha!) by the natives. We could have been in either position until I looked over and spied the two dour New England farmers and their HUGE dog Cujo. I kid you not.

Then the fellows started walking towards us and what should they have in their hands but a giant tourist whacking shovel and a pointy tourist skewering rake. And a big damned ass Cujo dog who was tall enough to walk in front of the car and still easily peer into the windows. Long about this time we discovered that we had no cell phone reception so now we are cut off from the outside world. With two approaching farm implement wielding natives and an inquisitive pony sized Saint Bernard. For fun and giggles we turned on the GPS unit but it wasn't talking to the satellites so doubly screwed.

We finally did get through on someone's cell (after the dogasaur lapped the car a couple times), discovered we had missed the turn (really!) and attempted to pull out of the drive to backtrack. Except...the ground started shaking and some sort of tractor/plow thing came rumbling across the lawn towards our car. We left over the small ditch and when the GPS finally came to, it informed us that we were leaving Knightville.

We finally got to our original destination (and a potty YAY!) and had a good laugh about the whole incident. However from here on out, I'm not as impressed with horror writers because that stuff can totally happen!


I still remember when we were driving home from the soup/Oktoberfest party out in Dexter...we went the wrong way and there was that freaky barn with the freaky windows and you KNOW that there was something nasty in there....