There's a strange phenomenon occurring in a household in the suburbs of our nation's capitol. From the outside, the house looks normal, a front door, windows, two car garage, an attic and a basement. Nothing out the ordinary really. But, once inside, it becomes abundantly clear that something's amiss. The dinner table is cleared, save for three place settings consisting of a plate, a fork, a knife and glassware for drinks. In the center of the table lies a beautiful pork roast, mashed potatoes and steamed green beans, but there's no heat coming from them; they've been sitting there for 45 minutes. The food should go back into the oven, which has been pumping out heat upwards of 325 degrees since it was turned on 2 hours ago.
In the laundry room, the washing machine slugs and sloshes about aggravating the water and suds into a frothy submission. The clothes that were supposed to be in the washing machine are resting comfortably on top of it. Near the threshold of the living room sits three bags of varying shapes, sizes and colors. All three are bags used for laptops or carrying around work documents. They're usually stowed away in the closet, but as of late, the threshold seems to be as good a place as any. The living room is perhaps two or three feet away from the front door.
The living room seems to be in order. Two chairs, a sofa, coffee table, cat gym, book shelves...and one PS2. Currently all three members of the house are sitting in front of the PS2 and a new 42 inch television set. All three faces are different, but they all have the same electronic blue blush on their faces, all three seem to be overly focused on what's on the screen. The housemate closes to the PS2 isn't moving any part of his body, save his fingers which seem to move like two spiders performing a mating ritual. His large, stocky frame is leaning back into his chair allowing a large sized cat to nestle comfortably on his chest. Every now and then, the cat's tail fwips by his line of sight, he doesn't blink.
After three hours, someone states the obvious, "Omigod, three hours have past!!!". Once again, Spyro the Dragon has stolen their lives.
The Spyro Effect is something to be feared and respected.
Remember that.
http://www.raymovie.com/index.php
In the laundry room, the washing machine slugs and sloshes about aggravating the water and suds into a frothy submission. The clothes that were supposed to be in the washing machine are resting comfortably on top of it. Near the threshold of the living room sits three bags of varying shapes, sizes and colors. All three are bags used for laptops or carrying around work documents. They're usually stowed away in the closet, but as of late, the threshold seems to be as good a place as any. The living room is perhaps two or three feet away from the front door.
The living room seems to be in order. Two chairs, a sofa, coffee table, cat gym, book shelves...and one PS2. Currently all three members of the house are sitting in front of the PS2 and a new 42 inch television set. All three faces are different, but they all have the same electronic blue blush on their faces, all three seem to be overly focused on what's on the screen. The housemate closes to the PS2 isn't moving any part of his body, save his fingers which seem to move like two spiders performing a mating ritual. His large, stocky frame is leaning back into his chair allowing a large sized cat to nestle comfortably on his chest. Every now and then, the cat's tail fwips by his line of sight, he doesn't blink.
After three hours, someone states the obvious, "Omigod, three hours have past!!!". Once again, Spyro the Dragon has stolen their lives.
The Spyro Effect is something to be feared and respected.
Remember that.
http://www.raymovie.com/index.php
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