by Jess Howe

Created on: January 16, 2009

Let me tell you the story of the Raving Dustball. No one should
have to face it, not ever again. It was such a sad case.

It started with a young man who wouldn't clean his room. For
years he sat and sat, playing on his computer and going out with
his boys as the dust encroached on on everything. His laundry
was everywhere, piled in corners, in the closet, in various parts

of the apartment he had - his bachelor pad, he called it. But no

young women were willing to go to it.

Not until Emma, that is. One stormy night, she went on a date
with our young man, who shall remain nameless. He was charming,
she thought: they went to McDonalds and played paintball. They
were having fun.

That is, till they went back to his apartment to do - well, we
won't talk about that. As Emma opened the door - ladies first,
as our young man said - she screamed a horrible scream.

There was a four-foot dustball in the doorway.

"Meep!" it said, and blinked at her - yes it was growing eyes!

Emma screamed again and ran, sobbing, down the stairs. She was
followed by a pair of underwear that had been in his corner, and
that kept trying to sit on her head.

"B-back off!" our valiant young soldier of a man cried, waving a
can of pepper spray at the dustball. He kept it trained on the
thing as he made his way slowly toward the kitchen. Other giant
dustballs appeared, crying "Meep, meep!" and he moved that pepper

spray around like it was a pistol.

Finally, he got to the kitchen, where he found in the back of the

cabinet a can of surface wipe, that his poor, suffering mother
had given him in an attempt to get him to clean. He was a good
boy, really he was. He found the can, and blew off the dust that

had been growing on it. For good measure he sprayed some at the
giant dustball.

He spent all that night cleaning, had to break up a party some of

his dirty clothes were having in the living room. He sprayed
that cleaner everywhere, and it calmed the stuff down at least.
Then he vaccuumed.

Have you ever seen a giant dustball, roaring as it rears back?
Oh, there was no "meep" then! Oh, he faced it bravely, thrusting
the vaccuum cleaner at it as if the machine were a sword and he
one of the knights of old. He pushed it forward, at every
dustball, flattening them one by one till they became smaller and
smaller. "Meeeeeeeep. . . ."

The laundry he had to beat down, with a flyswatter and a hammer.
"Get in there!" he yelled at pairs of underwear, as a shirt tried
to strangle him. Have you ever been attacked by a dirty shirt
that hasn't been washed in weeks?

It was all clean by six the next morning. The house was
spotless. Our Hero collapsed on the sofa and snored himself away
into oblivion.

He never leaves dirty laundry out anymore. Oh, he's relaxed a
little: his home is more controlled chaos than perfectly clean.
But it's enough. Nobody need fear anymore of the Giant Dustball,
or being chased by dirty laundry.

As for Emma, she was released from the psychiatric ward a year
ago. She never wants to hear the word "dust" again, and has
started living in a bubble.

Please, people. Clean your homes. Don't let this happen to you.

You don't want to see the Giant Dustball.

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