When my boyfriend unwrapped it, the dogs started growling and barking. They have every right to because the Elvis bust, who has a head painted in pastel colours, is damn ugly.

In fact, next to those porcelain cat nicknacks some electric wheelchair users adhere to their rides & those frizzy-haired lucky bingo trolls that superstitious gamblers neatly arrange while playing, the one-time gyrating rock 'n' roll icon (who in this case doesn't have any hips or waist) is the tackiest thing a gal could buy.

But love makes you do loopy things. In this case it inspired me to haul home the awkwardly shaped Elvis as an anniversary gift for my boyfriend because, sadly, he's long wanted one.

Minutes after dropping cash on The King, the bastard's sharp facial edges sliced open my finger, causing a fast stream of blood to immediately start gushing out.

I should've known then and there that Elvis had an evil steak in him, but until going to sleep later that night, I hadn't connected the dots.

The boyfriend perched Elvis on top of the dresser, a temporary solution until we find a permanent spot for him in our tiny apartment (basement! Basement ... please, pick the basement!)

While Elvis will likely be given prime real estate on the main floor, the King and I have a few issues to work out.

It was well after three in the morning when I shot straight up in bed, awoken by a loud rumbling noise that, in my sleepy haze, sounded like the dresser was being pounded up against the wall by a crazed spirit.

One of the dogs started barking and when I turned my head to check out where the sound was coming from, the dresser was dead still, Elvis was staring straight at me, and so was the dog, sitting upright on high guard-dog alert.

Truth is, I've taken in a lot of horror flicks recently, so other than Ava-the-dog staring eerily, it's possible everything else was the outcome of my subconscious nightmare land. That, or Elvis - who hails from a local convenience store - is haunted (in which case, I don't give a hoot if he's The King of rock 'n' roll or not, the dude's gonna be calling the basement home in no time flat).