Things That Scare Me (rather badly, in fact)

 

   Now, I got this idea from Dornbrau's Dust Bunny blog, in which she explained how she's working on conquering her fear of spiders.  So, I figured I'd ramble about those things out there that utterly terrify me.  If any therapists stumble across this, feel free to help me.  Lord knows I could really use it.

 

    Anyway, here are some of the things I'm afraid of:

• Buicks:    When I am driving, and I come across one of these cars on the road, I know it's only a matter of time before I am being forced into a head-on collision with a speeding cement mixer.
• A particular shade of the color green:    Quite frankly, your guess is as good as mine on this one.  I don't know what else to tell you.
• The vacant space between Jessica Simpson's ears:    I'm open to the whole concept of the "Big Bang Theory," and I think that all matter in the universe is slowly being sucked into Miss Simpson's head where it will be reduced to a very small, infinitely dense point in space, only to explode into an infinitely large gaseous cloud of recycled cosmic matter.  
• My toilet:    It shatters the Laws of Physics.  I live in the Northern Hemisphere, and correolis force dictates that the escaping water should turn in a clockwise direction; however, mine spins counter-clockwise.  I'm not certain, but my current theory is that it has something to do with Jessica Simpson's head, and its proximity to my potty.
• Vegans, Vegetarians, & people who only use their molars when eating:    Sometimes these folks will stop gazing at their crystals long enough to look at me as though I've been roasted on a spit and smothered with a cherry-orange glaze.  It makes me uncomfortable. 
• The phrase, Honey? I would like a set of steak knives for Christmas.:    That should be self-explanatory; particularly if it's coming from the mouth of someone who relies solely upon his or her molars in which to chew (see above).
• Lifetime Guarantees:    They never tell you whether or not it's the life of the product you buy, or YOUR life.  Ergo, what's keeping the makers of said product from coming to your house and killing you?  Why do you think they make you fill out those damn warranty cards?  They need your address.
• Rednecks who don't collect beer cans:    The way I see it, if you're not collecting beer cans, you're probably too sober and you have too much time on your hands, and you are therefore most-likely constructing a small, thermonuclear device in your basement.  
• People with Mullets:    These poor bastards are slowly being sucked into an inescapable vortex of time and space, and the last thing I want is to get close enough for them to get a hand on me and yank me into the swirling, atom-crushing abyss that is Jessica Simpson's head. 

    There you have it.  Those are my fears.  Sure, I have many more, but these are the biggies, ya know?