The Bunker

For the past two weeks I have been digging out a space beneath what used to be the floor of the storage room, but will soon be a therapy room for my housemate's autistic two year old boy. My housemate wants a crawlspace beneath the new floor in case access to the outer walls becomes necessary for rennovation purposes. What she doesn't know is my plan to turn the crawlspace into a hidden bunker: 4" steel alloy walls, automatically regulated temperature and moisture levels, special infrared lighting, and three-alarm ultrasonic security system to avoid break-ins. At just under 3' in height, there may be some claustrophobia issues to contend with, but the bunker is not for me; it's for my action figure collection. I only need a place to preserve them through to the end of the Rapture, and then they will be safe for all eternity. I believe that Jesus will understand my fetishistic attachment to iconic figurines; just look at the Catholic Church. And with Him on my side, the Old Man shouldn't be too difficult to win over. Then again, that's probably just what the early Hebrews thought, camped out at the foot of Mount Sinai. "Oh we've got Moses as an advocate, so what harm could a few snakes and cows cast in bronze do?" Maybe I should re-think the whole operation.

The back up plan to the bunker is to become High Lama of my own new Fakiegrind cult. Apparently, when the Dali Lama of Tibet passes on, the other Lamas eventually go looking to identify the child who is the reincarnation of their spiritual leader. They do this by bringing out a box of toys that have traditionally belonged to the line of Lamas; if the child recognizes the items, it is proof that he is the reincarnation. As leader of my own cult, I would simply pick out my favourite keep-sakes, and have them transmitted to me down through the ages in the Tibetan manner. The conundrum here is, if I were spiritually advanced enough to be akin to a High Lama, then I likely wouldn't have the irrational attachment to action figures and comic books that now plagues me. As it is, I'm likely to be reincarnated as a gnat, or a tree sloth, or maybe as a bombardier beetle, given all the blasphemy I spout in this blog. And what use would any of those creatures have for toys?