I was leaving work this evening, wondering what I'd blog about when a faint light from the parking lot caught my eye. Following the mysterious beacon, I wandered upon a most unlikely sight: Chris Weaver. Cleaning out his news unit. I swear. Now for those who think I'm overreacting, consider this: Weaver's of a certain breed, Photogifus Hoardicus, I believe they call it - the kind of shooter who never turns up at to a crime scene without three phonebooks, sixteen scanners and half a pack of tube socks. Think I'm kidding? Take a sweeping glance around Unit 15. In the short time I watched him forage through his backseat, I spotted two fishing poles, enough roadmaps to choke a tollbooth operater, sixteen types of lightbulbs, foul-weather gear for three large-sized men, several Happy Meal toys, assorted kitchen utensils and at least four basketballs - lest a rival station pick-up game break out.
By the third flash of my camera, Weaver looked up from his highlighted index of scanner frequencies, mumbled something about installing GPS on his camera batteries, the started sorting his collection of ketchup packets by fast food franchises. I don't know what's gotten into the old boy, but I'm not too worried. He goes on vacation tomorrow: he'll be home by the hearth while I'm rooting around Unit Four's floorboard for the proper condiments to go with stake-out bar-b-cue. Then who'll be the real slob?
UPDATE: Weaver himself weighs in with a rundown of what he found inside Unit 15. Witness the Insanity!