…anyway, an axe murderer named Goober had just ruined the birthday party by chopping his way into my house, and he was running around my kitchen in circles waving his axe and cleanly bisecting all the teriyaki sausages I’d hung from my ceiling to dry after they’d gotten soaked by the sprinkler system at the sushi bar.
And thinking of the sushi bar reminded me: after tripping the fire alarm I’d elbowed my way through the crowd of servers trying to rip and/or bash the tentacle off my mom’s schnozz, shooed them all away, and gently chiseled the thing loose from her with a hammer and spatula.
I wanted to keep it. Oh, and I didn’t want to see her get hurt, either.
Mom wasn’t a fan of me bringing the tentacle home, but I convinced her it was better to have it where we could keep an eye on it; otherwise it might jump through her bedroom window some night and smother her in her sleep. That’s a good tactic: keep your enemies where you can see ‘em.
So I borrowed some duct tape from the restaurant and shoved the tentacle into a takeout box and wrapped the box in about forty layers of the tape, and I brought the tentacle home and dumped it into our saltwater aquarium, but—shoulda seen it coming—the horrible thing immediately strangled the aquarium’s other occupant: my pet electric eel, whose name was…