Myself, my wife Diana, and our nine-month-old daughter Zadie moved into the top half of a beautiful red barn of a house in the South Park neighborhood of Seattle, just this weekend before last. The place is wonderful, if not a little spooky. We’re fairly certain it’s haunted by ghost kitties that only Zadie can see. Sometimes our motion-sensing porch light turns itself on; we suspect it’s either moths or cloaked Predators. Despite these eeries, we had no real reason to suspect any foul play had previously occurred on the premises.
Until we found the corpse chamber. I dub it thee not because it actually contained any corpses, as far as we know, but simply because it would be a great place to hide one (you guys let me know if you ever have the need). This room was behind a gremlin-sized door that needed to be pried open with a key, in the far corner of our already not-so-accessible laundry room. My brother and I discovered it first when we were moving all of our junk in. We pried it open immediately, expecting piles of gold and mountains of rubies.
Here’s what we found instead: some sort of foam-like insulation, random bits of wood, and a computer/monitor/keyboard/mouse that looked to be from the mid-90’s. I quickly drew the conclusion that since the gold and rubies were not here in this room, the treasure map leading to them must be stored somewhere on this hard drive.
Upon excitedly conveying my wondrous discovery to Diana, we came to the more likely conclusion that the computer itself was also haunted, or possibly was the source of the other hauntings, a sort of spooktastic Mother Brain. We chose to leave it alone for fear of ghastly robo-possession.
That is, until today, when my incessant curiosity finally overcame my desire to not be a ghost bitch. The potential benefit of being able to finally build an enormous gold/ruby swimming pool in my backyard (a lifelong goal of mine), I figured, outweighed the ghost bitch risk. What really pushed me over that edge was the sudden realization that this computer might in fact turn regular ol’ me into THE Freakazoid! (a lifelong hero of mine), if I just booted up and typed in the proper sequence, which is the title of this post. I assume you were wondering.
In case you’re not familiar with the legend of Freakazoid!, allow me to summarize: one day, this everyday, average nerd was sitting at his computer like usual when his cat suddenly jumped up on his keyboard, typed in http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Freakazoid! and then read about the premise of the show fo’ his own damn self. Rrrmmm’hrrmmmmm (snap snap snap).
I dug the computer out of the corpse chamber with glittering giddy glee, anxiously anticipating my freaktastic future. I booted it up and watched Windows xp (the computer was newer than I thought!) take five entire minutes to load. It was then that I noticed what I’d been searching for all this time - taped to the side of the tower was a sleeve containing a yellow 3.5 inch floppy disk, with the word “money” scrawled across it in poor handwriting. Mah rubies!
It didn’t feel like any ghouls were stealing my soul, so I pressed on, inserting the disk into its drive and feeling like I was eight again. As my pointer made its way to the A: icon, I could already feel the gold and rubies brushing my body ever so gently as I glided through them with an expert breaststroke.
Now would you believe what I found? I don’t think you would, since it was a backup of a Microsoft Money file, a program which wasn’t even installed on this computer. What a rip. I risked a lifetime of eternal ghost bitchery for this? Pfft.
Sour and disappointed, I pressed on, searching the computer for anything, anything at all, to repair my shattered heart.
Now you may believe this even less so, but I found it, right there on the desktop, the very one thing that would make my rubyless world right again, and here it is, in all its healing glory:
That’ll do, pig. That’ll do.