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I Found These Tribal Masks in My Attic and Now They Won’t Stop Licking Me

I Found These Tribal Masks in My Attic and Now They Won’t Stop Licking Me

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For the past month or so, I have had three ancient Indonesian tribal masks floating around me, licking every single exposed square inch of my body. They have caused me great embarrassment in public and I have been constantly drenched in 1,500-year-old saliva. “Indonesian tribal masks” is not a euphemism for something darker: I have literally been licked nonstop by three floating pieces of copper for the past 30 days. Allow me to explain: A few days before I was headed back to my hometown for the holidays, five masked men broke into my apartment and proceeded to break, vandalize, and steal the fabulous décor that adorned our living quarters. Our mantelpiece decorations—the 1839 ginger beer bottle, the crystal decanter filled with Macallan 17-year-aged scotch, and the bust of Asclepius my roommate found while dumpster diving—were all stuffed into their burlap sack. They took cans of spray paint to my replica A.M. Cassandre prints and my roommate’s Lars von Trier movie poster collection. When the men finally left nearly an hour later, nothing remained of the beautiful interior decorating job that took the three of us so long to complete.

I didn’t care about the men’s reason for breaking into our apartment and breaking all our shit: that was the police’s job as far as I was concerned. The only desire I had was to return my apartment to its former glory.

Alas, my bank account was empty. I had spent all my money a few months prior on some investments that fell through. My roommates were in similar situations: one of them lost all his money gambling at the racetrack, and the other spent all his money on a new car. Since we were all going back to our parents’ houses in a few days for the holidays, we decided that a great way to tide ourselves over until we had money with which to buy furnishings would be to ask our parents if they had any décor that they’d be willing to let us have.

Upon my arrival at my childhood home, I asked my parents if they had any old decorations they would allow me to have. They told me that they had bought some items in Indonesia when they went there a few decades ago I could take. I ran up the attic steps, ducked under some rafters, and found a small, damaged box in the corner. I opened it and, before I had a chance to see its contents, three tribal masks burst out of the container and proceeded to lick me.

I tried pushing them away, but some force kept pushing the masks back towards me. I ran down to the kitchen and swung at them with a cleaver, but the blade passed right through them as if they were holograms. I tried filing a restraining order, but I was told that restraining orders could only be filed against humans, not Indonesian tribal masks. I even tried taking the masks to court on aggravated assault charges, but the judge thought my case was so ridiculous that he threw it out. I wasn’t even allowed to fly back to Chicago, as each of the three masks counted as a carry-on, and airlines only allow two carry-ons. My parents had to drive me for 18 hours to get back to my apartment.

Living with these Indonesian tribal masks has been nearly unbearable. I persistently smell salivary and metallic. Apart from being more or less useless, showering is, for obvious reasons, uncomfortable. Doing work of any kind is difficult as well; it is nigh impossible to focus with three tongues constantly rubbing up against me. Even sitting down is awkward: one of the masks (which I have named Moriah) likes to hover behind me right before I sit down. Consequently, after I sit, Moriah becomes lodged between my back and the back of the chair, which is uncomfortable in and of itself. The ensuing licking is not particularly agreeable, either.

I’ve been fired from my job. My girlfriend broke up with me. I can’t sleep, all on account of these Indonesian tribal masks. My life is falling apart. Please, if any of you reading this know what to do in my situation, let me know.

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