You know how I told you a few days ago that I’d discovered that several readers of this little site work for infamous, wheeled, man-baby pornographer, Larry Flynt? Well, one of them just sent an enormous 25-pound crate of smut to my P.O. Box. It’s sitting on my desk right now. I’m out at the kitchen table with my laptop, too terrified to be in the same room with it, let alone open it.

I don’t know definitively that it’s smut, but I have good reason to assume it is. Its arrival was preceded by an email telling me that, like it or not, I was about to see some of the most vile acts ever performed by conscious human beings. Seriously, the note warned that it was the worst of the worst, the stuff Flynt couldn’t give away… And there it sits on my desk.

Should I open it? Should I drag it down Cross Street and send it to the bottom of the Huron? Should I leave it at the foot of the water tower as an offering to the god of phalluses that protects our city? Should I send it to Drew Barrymore as a kind of peace offering?

But, what if it’s not porn at all, but a donation of medical supplies intended for a local non-profit? I should at least peak in, right?

Or, better yet, what if I have one of you open it? What if I hide it somewhere here in Ypsi, and post a treasure map on my site? Would that be a nice way to spend your Memorial Day weekend with your family? Just imagine you and your kids, making your way through the abandoned buildings of Ypsilanti, hoping to find 25-pounds of degenerate filth.

I have no idea what to do. I just know that I want it out of my house before, God forbid, something terrible happens to me and it’s found by my family.

And, yes, this is what I’ve chosen to write about tonight, instead of the subpoenaing of Karl Rove and today’s “Future of Ypsilanti” conference that was held, inexplicably, at Ann Arbor’s swanky Barton Hills Country Club.

[I’m thinking now that maybe this is a sign. Maybe the box belongs at the Barton Hills Country Club. Could one of you drop it off for me?]