June 2012 I had the misfortune of being trapped with Jericho in a small compartment with only the sound of a torturous smurf DVD playing. To somehow block out the tiny, blue voices and Jericho's incessant staring at me, I started rambling about three bags of Cheetos that I had just purchased on my wife's orders.
Fast-forward one month to where I make a grave mistake: When telling Jericho that Denmark would be a much better place if we could buy Cheetos, I get caught off-guard and provide him with my physical address when in a clever ruse he offers to send some more.
Many parts of me (i.e. every sane one and primarily my stomach, which had to deal with large quantities of antacids) wish that I would have never realised the blunder I had just made. Alas, I did. Even if I hadn't, Jericho was gracious enough to make me very much aware of it on Twitter. He clearly wanted me to fear the arrival of the package.
I had heard about boxes-of-shit from other unfortunate souls. For a week I dreaded what I was about to receive, but even a long time of risk analysis and anxiety could not have suitably prepared me for his craftiness...
All my hopes were on the Danish postal services losing the package. They daily "misplace" packages, but the unjust postal service law dictates that it's never the one you don't want to receive. The backup plan was, of course, to never accept the package; pull the curtains and sit all quiet in my home so the mailman would leave without making his delivery.
"Things never go as planned", people say, but for some reason we still plan. Maybe we should start planning for undesirable things to happen to ensure they don't? Anyway, I digress... people were right!
The first time I saw the package, it was sitting on the top of my dining room table. It caught me off-guard as it was packaged in a box for a fitness ball. My immediate reaction was, therefore, to curse that my wife had bought another one. As I got closer, I noticed that I wasn't so lucky: It was the box-of-shit.
How did it get there?! The wife had accepted delivery. Damn! I had failed to account for that. Jericho's timing was impeccable - how could he possibly know that I would be out of the house that day. And more importantly: How could he know that my wife would be home and has a penchant for fitness balls and, therefore, would gladly accept delivery. Crafty.
Maybe it was just dumb luck on his part, but that's not usually how Jericho operates. And if it was luck, then there would be another reason for him specifically choosing that packaging. What was the hidden message then? Did he spot that I've gained weight and is calling me fat, suggesting me to start exercising? Was it as simple as that? No, there had to be something deeper. It somewhat illudes me at the moment . perhaps it's just his way of telling me that he's planning on exercising my balls in Vegas next week...
Opening the box I find and analyse the following content:
Looking at the contents of the box, one may be inclined to ask if this really is a box-of-shit. It's some pretty good shit. However, think about this for a moment: He set me up to fear the arrival of the box - for a week I was awaiting it in dread and when it finally arrives, it's mostly harmless. A lesser person would now be lured into a false sense of security, but I can't help wondering if there is a step two to this evil scheme...
And now, every day, I have to remember that he still has my address. At least, I also have his...
