Pectators

pec·ta·tor (pëk’tat'õr) n., pl. pec·ta·tors, pec·ta·tory or pec·ta·noc·ity. 1. One who is a spectator of the Pecadillo. 2. A person who willingly wastes large portions of their life reading mindless drivel (much like a "Trekkie" only without the assumed computer and technological skills). 3. A drain on society, typically regarded as a half step above a hobo.



Since starting my blog over a year and a half ago and subsequently gaining (and losing) steady readership through a perfect combination of luck and nepotism, I've been getting recognised by people from all walks of life. My fans, henceforth known as "Pectators," much like menial street vendors, share a common set of values and interests that can only be truly understood by someone who has spent a lot of time at one of those portable carnivals they set up in vacant lots for three days. Pectators, while frightening and clearly unstable, actually experience and sustain brief moments of normalcy. These rare moments, stretched out over periods of unsupervised time, allow the Pectator to at least appear to function amongst the normal population and thus, exist amid us undetected.



When approached by one of these freaks of nature, it is important to keep in mind a few facts about the Pectator. Like most members of the animal kingdom, Pectators only attack when threatened. The problem is that even the slightest change in wind can cause intense fear and despair for the Pectator. The key to surviving the inevitable Pectator attack is to always keep a supply of Hi-C and Bacon Bits at the ready. Trust me, I've sidestepped countless Pectator assaults by using everyday household items to my advantage. If you're all out of substitute pork products and over priced sugar water, you can always use other everyday items. I've found that car keys or really any shiny metal objects are very effective in stalling the Pectator. Although nothing has proven more effective than the time tested flashlight-on-the-wall trick. Pectators may be unstable, but they're also very easily distracted...



The Pectator is small in stature, typically no more than 4 foot 8. This is just one of many physical disadvantages that the Pectator must endure. But what he lacks in looks, health, social skills, and basic sense of hygiene, the Pectator makes up with thin mustaches and a vast knowledge of obsolete computer technology. Due to his usual diet of nachos, cigarettes and pure caffeine, mixed with his inability to exercise and years spent sequestered from fresh air and sunshine, the Pectators' life expectancy rate rarely exceeds 42 years. They can put a man on the moon but they can't improve basement/boiler room ventilation systems... But don't let those dark rings and Harry Caray glasses fool you, at night, the Pectator can see for miles by using his heightened sense of smell.



It is true that the Pectator suffers from chronic poor eyesight, however they boast an unusual bond and rapport with all members of the animal kingdom. Here, Darren "the kitten wrangler" Montoya demonstrates his comradeship with one of his many, many cats.



This Pectator has had a few run-ins with the law. I'm happy to report that Anton is now reformed and is nearing the end of a five year sentence. He's doing a nickel at San Quentin for undisclosed reasons. Here, he demonstrates how to floss imaginary teeth with imaginary dental floss. That can come in handy... someday... I suppose.



This Pectatorette has found herself in quite a predicament; I hope I never have to make the tough choice between cigarette, Dr Pepper, phone book, or a whole Turkey leg. So many treasures, yet just two arms to carry them. What a dilemma indeed.



Periodically, a Pectator will get separated from the rest of the herd. Alone, and completely lacking any survival skills, it won't be long before this little guy takes his next step in the circle of life.



Such grace, such elegance, such untamed beauty. Yeah, I think I just puked in my mouth.

Catherine, the striking young beauty on the left, is one of my biggest fans. Don't let that bored, near death look on her face fool you; she was very excited to meet me. I bumped into her one afternoon while I was deodorant shopping at the local Rite Aid. She was there to replenish her stock of powdered milk and horse tranquilizers in time for winter. Catherine and I shared a lovely conversation about Geritol side effects and John Tesh's career before he "sold out".

Norabelle, the one on the right - although at the time I was sure her name was "Walter" - is credited with the invention of the nylon tourniquet. I wonder how she got that idea...