One day while I was in high school, I liked The Apprentice. I realize how wrong that sounds. I mean, the show is about this fucking capitalist guy with a bad haircut dominating over his workers and firing them as he pleases. This fucker is a millionaire turned billionaire. “The Donald.†Give me a break. Anyway, my young mind bought into all the marketing this show had going on for it and I really got into season 1. In one of the challenges on the show, the contestants had to take this bottled water with “The Donald's†mug slapped on it, and sell the most cases of pallets or whatever to bodegas and grocery stores, “Trump Ice,†it was called.
Living in NYC while this was going on, I couldn't help but not to track down this memorabilia of national reality T.V. History. So I found a store in midtown that sold this Trump Ice and the cashier was really hamming it up. Going on and on about the film crew that was there and about how fresh and crisp it had tasted. As soon as I left the deli with the bottle, however, I knew something didn't feel quite right.
I've kept it all these years, It's gone through two moves with me, and every time I try to open it to maybe drink it or dispose of it, I freeze up, I can't do it. I either get the sudden urge that I'm going to need it later, I become distracted at that exact moment, or I just immediately change my mind. My hand would be on the twist off cap and some divine intervention held me back from unleashing whatever the hell was in there.
What had tipped me off that there was a demonic/ghostly presence inside this thing was when I first attempted to put it up for sale on an online auction site. I had been clearing junk out of my closet and I decided to finally get rid of it once and for all. The pictures I took of it to upload came out blurry, or they wouldn't upload at all. The other pictures in the card came out fine though.
This was about the time when I stated to panic. The bottle would move a few inches from where I would leave it. When I would come home at night, I would find it knocked over on the floor. On several occasions, I would turn around to see “The Donald's†face staring through my soul.
I brought it to a church and a mystic in Manhattan upon a friend's request. I told both parties about this bottle and asked them to evaluate if they saw or felt anything within. The mystic said nothing except asking for me to leave the premises with this accursed thing, and the church priest had agreed with me in that he felt there was certainly something unorthodox about it.
I'm telling you, whatever is in here is BAD. I pity the individual who breaks the seal without proper precautions. I'm not sure what I'm going do with it yet, but it needs to leave my house as soon as possible. I urge the reader to uncap it within the five points of a pentagram.
Living in NYC while this was going on, I couldn't help but not to track down this memorabilia of national reality T.V. History. So I found a store in midtown that sold this Trump Ice and the cashier was really hamming it up. Going on and on about the film crew that was there and about how fresh and crisp it had tasted. As soon as I left the deli with the bottle, however, I knew something didn't feel quite right.
I've kept it all these years, It's gone through two moves with me, and every time I try to open it to maybe drink it or dispose of it, I freeze up, I can't do it. I either get the sudden urge that I'm going to need it later, I become distracted at that exact moment, or I just immediately change my mind. My hand would be on the twist off cap and some divine intervention held me back from unleashing whatever the hell was in there.
What had tipped me off that there was a demonic/ghostly presence inside this thing was when I first attempted to put it up for sale on an online auction site. I had been clearing junk out of my closet and I decided to finally get rid of it once and for all. The pictures I took of it to upload came out blurry, or they wouldn't upload at all. The other pictures in the card came out fine though.
This was about the time when I stated to panic. The bottle would move a few inches from where I would leave it. When I would come home at night, I would find it knocked over on the floor. On several occasions, I would turn around to see “The Donald's†face staring through my soul.
I brought it to a church and a mystic in Manhattan upon a friend's request. I told both parties about this bottle and asked them to evaluate if they saw or felt anything within. The mystic said nothing except asking for me to leave the premises with this accursed thing, and the church priest had agreed with me in that he felt there was certainly something unorthodox about it.
I'm telling you, whatever is in here is BAD. I pity the individual who breaks the seal without proper precautions. I'm not sure what I'm going do with it yet, but it needs to leave my house as soon as possible. I urge the reader to uncap it within the five points of a pentagram.
