At the grocery store yesterday, in the aisle where I was examining the red, green and golden delicious apples, I was approached by an attractive woman, perhaps in her late 30s or early 40s, who said excitedly, “I just want you to know, I had you in English years ago. You were such a hard grader. You made me do more than I thought I could. I loved you, and I hated you.”
I wasn’t sure if she was going to pick up an apple and present it to me as an offering, or maybe throw a rotten one at me, so I quickly told her that I’ve just retired, and that I now have more time to pursue other interests. She noticed the Redbox movie I was clutching like a protective shield. “What movie did you rent?” she asked eagerly, waiting for further enlightenment outside the classroom.
“A guilty pleasure,” I replied.
“Shakespeare or Dickens? Arthur Miller or Tennessee Williams? You see? I remember.”
I showed her the box.
“The Human Centipede,” she read the title, slowly. Then looked at me again, her eyebrows arched, “The Human Centipede?”
“As I said, a guilty pleasure.”
“Oh, God. And I was going to make meatloaf for dinner.”
“I’m sure it’s good.”
“No, The Human Centipede. Your meatloaf too, I’m sure. ”
“I hope you enjoy your retirement,” she said hastily, starting to retreat. “I just wanted you to know. I loved you, and I hated you.” And with that, she disappeared into the meat section.
Well, I’ve now seen the movie. It’s about a mad German scientist who lives near (I’m guessing) the Bavarian Forest. He traps unsuspecting American and Japanese tourists in his basement, cuts open their various orifices and joins them end to end, oral to anal, just like the title promises, into a human centipede. The whole surgical procedure looked rather unhygienic, and the movie left me hungry for more.
A meatloaf sandwich would have been nice.