Last night, Army Boy and I settled into the living room to enjoy a little bit of relaxation and tv-watching. It was a rainy evening, perfect for not feeling guilty at enjoying the leftover birthday cake and sitting on our buttz.
There was literally nothing enjoyable on the ‘tube, until I came across some episodes of “Ghost Hunters” on SyFy. (Side note: what the heck, Sci Fi? Why did you feel the need to make your logo look like a constipated poodle’s name? “Heeeere See-fee! Just me? Anyone else? No?)
Despite the fact that I am the biggest wuss in the known universe, I can sit through hours of this show with barely a twitch of apprehension. Perhaps I find the fact that they’re based in my old stomping grounds, Rhode Island, comforting. Listening to their accents as they’re assaulted by the paranormal (or not) makes it less frightening.
During the second show, set in an old Victorian home in Massachusetts, the team was discussing the topic of EVP, Electronic Voice Phenomena. These are recordings captured at the sites of supposed hauntings, sometimes containing unexplained sounds that can be classified as “communication.”
Army Boy was pretty absorbed in the show to this point, when he turned to me and said, “You know, I think I know what EVPS they’d record in our house.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“Oh gawd. They’re having sex. AGAIN.”