I have never really got over my fear of the bogeyman. It’s one of the many things from my childhood that I just cannot let go of, like my love of action figures, refusal to eat broccoli and this reoccurring dream where the people from Seseme Street try to feed me to Snuffalufagus.
The thing about the bogeyman is that despite the fact that he has terrified me and prevented me from sleeping for the last twenty years, I still have no clear idea as to what he looks like.
The day that I moved out away from home was a highlight in my life, not only because it meant I could escape my mother’s iron grip and spend all day eating cheetos in my underwear. It also meant that if the bogeyman were to finally get around to crawling out from under my bed to kill me, there would be a 50 percent chance he’d get my roommate first. This was a big improvement in my mind.
As a 7-year-old, I would always have my parents protect me from the bogeyman, because certain death and the hands of a drooling monster didn’t seem to faze them.
I also assumed that by the time I was married I would be brave enough to protect my young bride from anything that may be hiding in our closet. I also figured I’d have matured to the point where I’d be able to resist giggling to myself when I hear the word “titillate.”
I was wrong on both counts.
So here I am, a married “responsible” adult, I can do anything I want and I still spend my nights staring at the ceiling worrying about what could possibly be going bump in the night.
I’ve decided this needs to stop. When I become a father, if my offspring come to me with fears and complaints about monsters under the bed, I’d want to be able to do more than just dress them up in some football pads, hand them a wiffle bat and wish them luck.
For all these reasons and more, I’ve decided to take the fight to my enemy. I refuse to live in fear anymore. I’m officially calling the boogeyman out.
I’m not sure how this is going to work. The boogeyman definite has the advantage on me. He’s been around for years, spying on me. If he’s as smart as he claims to be, he’ll probably start watching tape of some of my previous battles looking for weaknesses.
Fortunately, I’ve been preparing for this battle for a long time. I’ve got plans. I’ve got a training regiment. I’ve got booby traps set up in my room. I think I’m ready.
Ideally, the boogeyman will be a man and face me in honorable, one-on-one combat. Actually ideally we’d just settle the whole thing via a game of high-stakes Dungeons and Dragons but we all know he’s too big of a chicken to do that. That’s right boogeyman, I’m calling you a chicken.
Unfortunately, I know that I’m dealing with an underhanded monster that generally picks victims based on the presence of footie pajamas.
From what I’ve been able to gather, the boogeyman attacks when people are least expecting it. I didn’t burn my eyebrows off in Boy Scouts for nothing. I be prepared. This is why I’m ready to face him at anytime of the night.
You think I’m kidding? Just ask my wife, I sleep with nunchucks under my pillow.
Now I’m sure some of you out there are laughing at me, saying that such a battle is unnecessary seeing as how there hasn’t been a verified boogeyman-related attack since at least the Carter administration. To you I say, if you were attacked by the bogeyman, would you tell anyone?
That’s not the point though, after I’m through with him, there won’t be anymore little boys getting abducted because he didn’t stay under his blanket for a very long time.
That’s why I’m doing this, for the children.
Because they deserve to be able to stay up late, so that they too, may geek on.
Steve Shinney is a junior in computer science and is currently training for a fight with Count Chocula and his big rematch with the chucabra.
This beat first apearred in the Utah Statesman. Used with permission
