February 17, 2011 by Olivier Blanchard
Every once in a while, I receive a package in the mail that I wasn’t expecting. The doorbell rings, I go to answer, and sitting there on my doorstep is a box. Brown waves at me, drives off, and I walk back into the house with the mysterious package under my arm. I weigh it in my hand. Too heavy for a T-shirt. Too light for a book. Too quiet for an 8lb bag of m&ms. I let Chico sniff it for explosives. Clear. Cholula sniffs for pot, in case it’s from my sister. Clear. Chiquita sniffs for anthrax. Clear. I set the box on the kitchen table, swing my ninja sword at its edges in a blur and a woosh, and voila. Inside the box, I find… stuff like this:
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