I Will Someday Save Your Life
I don't mean to be too grandiose at 9:30 in the morning, but I'm pretty sure that I am blessed by divine providence and will one day play an important role in the shaping of our planet's future. Why do I feel this way? Is it just my over-inflated sense of self-importance coupled with the sugar high that comes from eating half a box of leftover Marshmallow Peeps on an empty stomach? Perhaps, but I'm choosing to ignore those facts for a moment. Instead I'm going to focus on the shocking, unimpeachable evidence that I am The Chosen One.
My Case:
This morning, I overslept by an hour, waking up at 8am and in a bit of a panic. I'm a lot of things, but "perpetually tardy" is not one of them. Once you factor in the toothbrushing time, the picking-out-of-the-snazzy-clothes time and the annual hunt for my keys, wallet, cellphone and other important miscellenia that I toss about my apartment like a deranged petal-chucking flower girl the minute I get home, I was only left with about 45 minutes to make the hour-long trip from my door to my cubicle. Clearly, I was fated to be sneaking in at 9:15, my eyes cast downward, my knees buckling under the weight of my own shame, my office-mates flinging poop at me and branding my flesh with a red hot letter "L." And yet, through the bending of time, by the grace of whatever particular deity you subscribe to, with a pocketful of miracles, I made it to my desk at exactly 9 O'CLOCK! Clearly something, be it fate, be it the tides of history, be it karmic retribution, wants me to keep this job so I'll have enough money to continue living in the manner in which I've grown accustomed, therefore keeping me happy and healthy so that, when the revolution happens or the world needs its self saved or the forces of darkness need to be beaten back into hell from whence they came, I'll be totally ready.
Doubt me if you will, mock me if you must, but I think the facts speak for themselves. When I cure cancer, stop a bullet meant for society's greatest thinker with my bare hands and go all Jackie Chan on a roomful of terrorists, you'll thank me. Oh yes, you'll be so grateful that you'll cry real tears.
Goddamn I love Marshmallow Peeps!
My Case:
This morning, I overslept by an hour, waking up at 8am and in a bit of a panic. I'm a lot of things, but "perpetually tardy" is not one of them. Once you factor in the toothbrushing time, the picking-out-of-the-snazzy-clothes time and the annual hunt for my keys, wallet, cellphone and other important miscellenia that I toss about my apartment like a deranged petal-chucking flower girl the minute I get home, I was only left with about 45 minutes to make the hour-long trip from my door to my cubicle. Clearly, I was fated to be sneaking in at 9:15, my eyes cast downward, my knees buckling under the weight of my own shame, my office-mates flinging poop at me and branding my flesh with a red hot letter "L." And yet, through the bending of time, by the grace of whatever particular deity you subscribe to, with a pocketful of miracles, I made it to my desk at exactly 9 O'CLOCK! Clearly something, be it fate, be it the tides of history, be it karmic retribution, wants me to keep this job so I'll have enough money to continue living in the manner in which I've grown accustomed, therefore keeping me happy and healthy so that, when the revolution happens or the world needs its self saved or the forces of darkness need to be beaten back into hell from whence they came, I'll be totally ready.
Doubt me if you will, mock me if you must, but I think the facts speak for themselves. When I cure cancer, stop a bullet meant for society's greatest thinker with my bare hands and go all Jackie Chan on a roomful of terrorists, you'll thank me. Oh yes, you'll be so grateful that you'll cry real tears.
Goddamn I love Marshmallow Peeps!
posted by Clinton at 11:19 AM
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