Its origins are less than mysterious: I was shelving a can of Chef Boyardee extra large meat ravioli* when I pinched the skin of my finger between said can and the shelf on which I was trying to put it. I think most people would agree that this is simply a minor blood blister sort of situation, and that any attempt of mine to put my affairs in order and start looking at coffin models is a bit of an overreaction.
*I just don't understand the concept of extra-large meat ravioli in a can. The can is the same size. You are eating the exact same amount of food. "But I'm extra hungry!" you might say. Well, my suggestion to you would be to eat a meal that you cannot buy for a dollar-fifty and does not fit in the palm of your hand.
However, I am nothing if not a pop culture junkie, and pop culture has taught me that black spots--any black spots--have dreadful consequences, particularly if one is on board a pirate vessel of some kind.
So while part of me continues to live life like a normal human being, a small, irrational part of me keeps waiting for Bill Nighy-as-an-octopus-person to come up behind me and blare "Yeh owe meh yer soooooul!" right before my spot jumps ship to go seek its fortune and marry another black spot. My one comfort is that Rory and Pirate!Hugh Bonneville managed to make it work for them on Doctor Who, and, as everyone knows, a television show about a time-traveling alien is always a proper yardstick by which to measure your own life. (Side note: your life is, and will always be, inadequate compared to Doctor Who. True story.)
Further side note: Did you know that, of all the black spots in film and television, the only one I could find a video of was the 2011 Doctor Who episode "Curse of the Black Spot?" Do you believe me now? Give it enough time, and the Black Spot (maybe it merits capitalization?) will destroy everything it touches, including media depictions of itself!
Whoa, it just got all meta up in here, didn't it?
I blame the spot.
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