When I was fifteen, living in Trinidad, and every bit as odd as I am today (if less honed), Mark and I decided, with my sister and Pam, to arrange a gala variety show with my cousins.
It was specterrible, but the adults appauded and the 8mm tapes are lost, so that's okay. It's just that on occassion, for no reason I can identify, something triggers an amygdala-response and the sickening thud of an iron fry-pan impacting my skull to the refrain, "Duck, and Cover" from the classic 1950's paranoia piece, "Bert the Turtle" is ejaculated into my conscious mind.
I didn't say it was pleasant. I choose my words to share the feeling. "Yucky" is the word you're looking for.
Right. You read it, so you're stuck with it too.