GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #993: THE DEVIL AND TUCKER CARLSON

 Lest ye think I've forgotten about Tucker Carlson, I assure you I have not. Especially this one story from November of last year that nobody seemed to give much of a shit about. I get it. No one wants to hear about Tucker Carlson. Not sure how his own family stands him and that horrible laugh of his. Does his wife forgive him for wanting to fuck the green M&M?

At any rate, this asshole made a claim that he was attacked by a demon. He hedges his bets by adding "or something unseen." The attack left claw marks in his flesh, and he bled from them. He claimed to still have the marks on his body. I have no idea why no one asked him to show them off. I would have. But that's neither here nor there, as there are no such things as demons.

He said he was sleeping with his wife and four dogs when he was "mauled." Except, according to the story, he must not have felt it because he only discovered the wounds and blood later. From what he said, he woke up being unable to breathe in a state of confusion. That right there makes me think he was experiencing sleep paralysis, not a demon attack. But then he said that he went out for a walk, came back to see his wife and dogs were still asleep, and only then discovered his injuries.

I call bullshit. When crime authors write stealthy murder scenes, what's the question they usually ask themselves? What about the dog? I currently live with two dogs who flip out every time a mouse farts three blocks down. You mean to tell me that Tucker Carlson was attacked by a demon, and none of his dogs even stirred in their sleep?

He then told an assistant about this, who replied, "That happens, people are attacked in their beds by demons."

I have never been attacked by a demon in my bed, but I *have* had sleep paralysis. I think Carlson had an episode, and he thought it would help Trump's campaign if he talked about being attacked by something from Hell, ie. what his voting base would believe despite the fact that Trump is probably an atheist. If he believes in a god, I'm sure that god is himself. Isn't that essentially an Anton Lavay kind of thing to say?

I thought I'd end this one with a little advice. I no longer have sleep paralysis, and that's because I found a cure. I'm not a very fearful man, so your mileage may vary on this, but give it a shot. My sleep paralysis doesn't involve demons or old hags or anything. However, there is some creature under my bed that wants to drag me down to Hell. Every time I tried to fight, but I was paralyzed. The panic came from not being able to save myself. One time I knew I was having an episode, and I knew that what I was experiencing wasn't real. So I said fuck it, take me. I stopped trying to fight, and I felt myself get dragged down to the floor and pulled under my bed, which was a physical impossibility at the time. I would never have fit under there. But I came back to myself immediately, and I haven't had an episode since.

Give it a shot. It might be scary for a moment, but it also might help.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #489: SLEEP PARALYSIS

 I've suffered from sleep paralysis for a long time. It used to be fucking terrifying because it seemed so real. I never saw the Old Hag that others swear by, but what happens to me is that I'm in bed and something is under it trying to drag me down to join it. It's actually impossible. If there was such a thing down there, there is no way it could pull me down and under because, well, I'm too fat to fit under my bed for one, and for another there is no room on any side of my bed. Maybe if I was a child.

But maybe a decade ago I stopped giving a shit about this. I started thinking, fuck it, let the bastard take me. And when I surrendered myself to this feeling, I suddenly stopped having sleep paralysis.

There is some speculation as to what causes this phenomenon. I think it happens when our bodies fall asleep but our minds aren't quite there yet.

Imagine my surprise when, during my first week back home after my most recent amputation, I experienced sleep paralysis again. This time was different, though. I felt an odd sensation in the back of my skull. If someone had been monitoring my brain in a scientific setting, I'm sure my readings would have lit up like Klieg lights. It burned with an electrical feeling, like someone had plugged something into the back of my head Matrix-style.

And then I left my body. It wasn't cool like you'd think. Nothing looked right around me. If I had to compare it to something, I'd say it's like when Frodo puts the ring on in Peter Jackson's LotR movies. It's kind of like a shadow world where everything is dark and the winds howl constantly. It freaked me out, especially when I saw the hunk of meat I left behind. Holy shit, that's me! Or rather, that's supposed to be me. I tried to lay back down, matching my spirit limbs to my physical limbs, and at first it didn't work. I thought, shit, maybe I died. Maybe I'm locked out of the physical realm now.

Grandma hadn't died yet, so I felt a slight relief that I wouldn't have to deal with that or the looming homelessness that would come after. But dying was a bummer, man. I had so many books I hadn't written or read yet, and I would never get to do that. I figured that when the final synapses of my brain stopped firing off I would cease to exist.

And then I woke up.

I know it was a dream. I know I didn't actually die or have an out of body experience, etc. But when I woke up I tried to recreate what I'd just gone through because it was, indeed, a hell of a ride. I'm not a roller coaster guy, but I thought this must be what it's like for people who enjoy that sort of thing.