Earth Weather

The hail really scared the dog upstairs. Not me though - I was brave. I didn't bark or whine at all.

I hid, like a man.

New New Job

Well, I got fired from being a CEO. It turns out I can't send the shareholders each a letter that says "FUCK YOU" and get away with it. I thought I could. It's just how I felt at that moment.

I blame my legion of assistants. They should've stopped me. If they're not there to stop me from doing something stupid, why did I hire them in the first place? Somebody should've stopped me from hiring all of them - probably one of my assistants.

I got a new job with a bicycle rickshaw company. Problem is, when I got fired, they took away my corporate bicycle. Now I have to pull the bicycle rickshaw with my body. That's humiliating.

And somebody left a whip in the carriage. People keep whipping me with it. Even more humiliating, they yell, "yah!". I've been meaning to take that whip out. And I've been meaning to install a sign that says, "No Yelling 'Yah!'". Those are my two positive, outside-the-box solutions. See - can't stop thinking like a CEO!

Although, they'd probably just find something else to yell. That's what happened when I installed the sign that said, "No Saying 'Please, sir, we're in quite a hurry and you've taken far longer - over an hour - than you said you would. I don't mean to be rude but this is really causing a problem.'" They just started yelling "Yah!".

I just keep forgetting to fix it. Slips my mind. Funny how we forget things like that until it's too late, isn't it? You think, "Oops, I forgot to bring some paper towels down to the car again so I can clean the interior," or, "Darn, should've brought my lunch to work today. Now I have to go to Jimmy John's again." The whip thing is like that, only it really hurts and causes pain almost constantly.

Sometimes I pass out from pain. That's my time to relax.

It feels good to be doing something with my body though, instead of being stuck behind a desk. At least that's what I tell myself. To be honest, I really loved sitting at a that desk. I didn't feel stuck at all. I felt liberated. Nothing to do but sit! And be pampered. There's no hot sun, people with whips, or getting routinely hit by cars. Sitting behind a desk is the best thing I've done, and I feel it's criminally underrated. Try it some time. It feels great.

It's way better than pulling a bicycle rickshaw with your body. That sucks. I hate every second of using my body. This body is terrible. You humans chose to have dumb bodies through the process of evolution. Just absolutely stupid - two legs? Only two freaking legs?! Get real! And there's no anti-gravity function! I've gotta deal with gravity all damn day.

But that's not what I tell myself. I'm staying positive. You know - lying to myself.

My Mental Breakdown

High-pressure CEO job, sleepless nights, difficult wife - It's finally happened. I've had my mental breakdown and I couldn't be happier.

Here's the part they don't tell you - mental breakdowns are great! You get tons of pity! Plus, waking up in a hospital is always nice. You know that all you have to do is ring a bell and someone will change your sheets, which you can pee in whenever you want.

It happened when I was crossing the street and tried to flip over a bus. Seems like the story might be more complicated than that, but it's not. I was crossing the street from one side to the other on my way to Walgreens, saw a bus at a stop, and got so angry I tried to flip it over.

Did it work? Yes. I think so. I blacked out almost immediately, so I don't know for sure. Ok - I don't know at all. But the next time I passed that stop, the bus wasn't there, so in my book, I flipped it over. Success.

In fact, I think I flipped it over and then kept rolling it, probably back to the bus depot where it belongs, several miles away. I'm responsible, so I put things back after I play with them.

Only one person came to visit me - the doctor. It was great to see him. He had lots of comforting words to offer like, "cough," "I'm sedating you," and, "I told you, there is no rectal exam. Normally people don't ask for that, Mr. Humanton."

The nurses tried to visit too, to be fair. But I yelled, "I'll flip you!" in a way that really freaked them out. I meant in a joking way, but it came out in a very murdery way. I guess I hadn't quite recovered yet.

Recovery's going great. I'll be back in bus-flipping shape in no time. That's the goal.

My Wife

My wife, Chevrolet, she's a heck of a lady. I wonder where she is. She comes around sometimes, but usually just to say, "See, I have husband," to some government agent who's trying to deport her. And one time she needed to borrow rice.

Beautiful woman. She could make the stars weep with pure hatred because they hate so much that they can't have her. But I can, legally. Legally, she's my property. That's what being a wife is. Weep away, stars. Weep from hatred.

Sometimes she and Maple-leaf, my horse and best friend, will go on trips together. I let them use my credit card because that's what friends are for - being taken advantage of.

We met at a hockey game. She stumbled into the men's bathroom drunk and I said, "Hey, you can't come in here, I'm vomiting." It was magical.

I'd gotten in a hockey fight, despite the fact that I wasn't playing. Apparently heckling with "You suck and I want to fight you" is not a common heckle at a kids' hockey league game. They were sixth graders. When they came to fight me I did pretty good, but the dads - I couldn't beat them. Not all 9 of them. Luckily most of the team had absentee fathers.

So that's why I was throwing up. My body was trying to eject anything but the essentials since it was going into survival mode, having just exercised a strong fight or flight response. With the kids it was fight, with the dads it was flight. I'm not good at the flying part. At least not across slippery ice.

She must've been impressed with my fighting moves against those sixth graders, because she married me to get her visa in no time. We had the quickest shotgun wedding the express chapel offered. We got married so fast we skipped right over the honey moon. In fact, when went straight to the "trial separation," as they call it. She said we needed some time apart. We'd been married since dinner. I can't argue - this whole marriage thing is really her specialty. She tells me how to do it and when to stop calling her, and, now, when I can start calling her again. Not calling or contacting her has become the norm. I like that she's willing to work through this.

Every marriage has problems. Marriage is hard, but worth it. There's no better feeling in the world than telling the guys at the police station, "I'm here to bail my wife out of jail. That's right, my wife."

I'm a lucky guy.

New Job!

I seem to have gone off course. I remembered recently that the reason I was here was for a "Day the Earth Stood Still - Keanuauwuu Reeves Version" style mission. I haven't done that. I have thrown a LOT of trash in the ocean, been someone who spreads violence and negativity, been hugely gluttonous, and ridden a horse. So all of those things are the opposite, except the horse, which is a grey area.

Which reminds me, Maple-leaf and I are getting along fine. We just shared a martini in my new limo and he managed to have a hat-maker, (a haberdasher) make him a top hat that fits a horse. I thought it was too hoity, but when I saw it on him I realized it really does suit him.

And good news, I'm a CEO now of Trampucorp, a world-wide corporation. So I guess that's really the opposite of the "Day the Earth Stood Still - Keeyanuu Reeves Version". But who's to say what's opposite of what? Some philosopher? An oppositologist? This is not a rhetorical question. Please, answer me.

It turns out it really is just hard work and positive thinking. That's all it took to rise to the top. I don't know what's wrong with the rest of you - you 99% most-of people. You're just not trying. I think you like starving.

I figure I can combine the two missions of saving the Earth and increasing profits like this: I just won't really do either one. There are plenty of books to cook. I laid off a lot of people to hire book-cookers. Being a CEO is great.

I have a limo with a hundred pounds of chocolate in there. The chocolate is rancid now, so I had to cover it in gold. That's when I do when something goes bad. I cover it in gold.

Where does the money come from? I don't know! I never really understood it in the first place. Who decides what money means? It's not a rhetorical question. Turns out, the answer is me. When you're in charge of something, you can tell it what to do. And I'm in charge of a lot of money.

But running a company isn't all limousines and glamor. It's really not. A lot of people are skeptical of that statement, but it's not!

Here are some of the other things I do in numbered order:
1. Hire people to do things.
2. Relax.
3. Party.
4. Hire someone to clean up the party.
5. Relax from all that partying.
6. Post-relax party.

Really, I can't inummerate all the things because they go on forever. And then, when you get to the post-relax relaxing... It get's complicated.

Sleeping Problems

I can't sleep. It's annoying. I keep trying at all times of the day. I figure since I can't do it in a bed, maybe it'll work in a chair, or in a line, or on someone's shoulder on the bus. No dice.

Falling asleep on someone's shoulder only works for so long. Then they have to get off at their stop, or they gently nudge you back awake. I pretend I don't notice the gentle nudging, which works at first, but eventually they get wise and start really nudging. Then I start really nudging back. No one believes I'm still asleep at that point. But if I admit I've been faking it, then it really gets uncomfortable, because they can address my actions.

Generally, when people address my actions, it's uncomfortable. "Sir, we require shoes and a shirt," they'll say, or, "He's the one! Get him officer!" Two examples. Two very common examples. Which reminds me - it's a bad idea to rob a store in your underwear. Makes it hard to hide the gun.

So here I am in jail. Good luck keeping me. One of the things they don't know about me is I'm an alien with superpowers. Like super-Power of Attorney. I'll have my home planet funnel me money for a rich-person lawyer. I've never been convicted. And it's my fault all that global warming's happening. So think of a crime bigger than that - I'll still get out of it.

I'm the guy that keeps throwing trash in the ocean. That's why there's that big vortex of it as big as Texas. I spend a lot of time throwing trash in there. Frankly, this jail time is cutting into my polluting time. I'm owed for that.

Heard of fracking? I makes it so you can can light water from your faucet on fire. I do that for fun.

I've been tried for all these things and always come out clean - so clean you never even hear of the trial in the first place.

You may think I'm a bad person for all that, but I do it all out of contempt, not love. So I am a bad person, in a lot of ways.

My goal is the total annihilation of the human species, or at least an admission that you're not as great as you thought. I'll settle for either one.

And it's hard to come up with good ideas for that when you can't sleep. I heard Ibuprofen works, so hopefully I'll be back at it soon, in full force.

Making Normal Small Talk

"Is Trudy the name of your wife, or your car?" I asked.
"Both."
"How?"
"I named my car after my wife, Trudy," he said.
"Oh, I see. I run into the same problem with my wife, Oldsmobile," I said. That was a lie. I was trying to fit in.

I was not making any friends at this YMCA. I try too hard. Every time I tried to strike up small talk I ended up telling a bald-faced lie like, "my wife's name is Oldsmobile." That one actually comes up a lot.

My wife's name is Chevrolet.

"You keep up with the Sox?"
"Sure do," I said. "I am a sock." That was the wrong thing to say. I was speaking to the coach of the Sox. Ricky Sox, I think his name was. Apparently it's a sports team.

When I try too hard I end up lying to impress people.

I tried to cover my tracks by showing up to the dugout for a few games, but my RBIs were average at best. I was worried they'd start to catch on.

I felt I stole too many bases too. I should've earned them, the honest way.

"Your wife's name is Oldsmobile?" asked Ricky Sox, incredulously, weeks later, after a game where I'd only hit one or two homers. I thought it was time to come clean.
"Alright," I said,"that was a lie." It felt good to be honest. Now we were off to the start of a great, honest friendship, I thought.
"Because I don't even believe you could ever have a wife," he continued. "And some really awful, maladjusted people have wives. John Wayne Gacy did, I think. That guy without a face, his wife still stuck with him. But you - no," he kept continuing, "You're worse than all of them."

"Thanks for the tip, friend," I said. That caught him by surprise.

If I hadn't had my hands around his neck, choking him, he probably would've responded. Probably with something like, "No problem, buddy." But with my hands around his neck choking him that hard he really couldn't say anything. I guess I'm not a Sox fan. And I'm not good at making friends at the YMCA.

So that's how I finally lost my YMCA membership.
"Geez, you don't have to file assault charges on me," I said to guy who runs it, Ricky YMCA.
"Stop saying that so much. That's practically your catchphrase," he countered.
"Sorry," I said while assaulting him. It's habit I'm into that's hard to break.
I gave him some free tickets to the next Sox games to show my gratitude for all he'd put up with from me and whole organization.

Since I couldn't go to the Y anymore, there was no point in me keeping up the charade with Ricky Sox. I lead the team up to the playoffs and then gave it up. I couldn't live a lie anymore.

More about my wife, Chevrolet, later.

Reuniting is Such Sweet Sorrow

Well, me and Maple-leaf met back up at the unemployment office. It was awkward at first, but I broke the awkwardness but standing somewhat near him and neither confirming nor denying his presence. I did a lot of looking at him and then looking away as he looked at me. Boy, I wonder what those people thought of me being so aloof with that horse. We were in a big line.

"Oh! that horse just farted," a beautiful woman said, holding her nose and retching.
"Nope, that was me," I countered. You gotta take the fall for your buddies sometimes. Plus it really was me. "Nice to meet you. My name's Ron, I think you're beautiful, and I'd like to take you on a date." I couldn't be sure what she was saying through the vomiting, but I'm pretty sure it was yes. No one could refuse a line like that. "Nice one, Ron," I thought in my mind. Then, in my mind, I gave myself a high five.

Usually, when I think something about a woman, I'm dead wrong. Sometimes I think they're men. Sometimes they are. Then, in those cases, it's not even an issue of me thinking something wrong about a woman, it's just a general lack of attention to detail. So that's a different issue.

But this time I was right. I gave myself a bunch of high fives in my mind for that. We had a date. The trick is, I just stayed with her in the ambulance after she passed out from the smell. I brought her food from the hospital cafeteria and told her about myself as she slowly regained consciousness. It was perfect. Ok, sure, I shouldn't have farted again. That maybe wasn't perfect. But no date is perfect.

A few medical shifts later, she came to.
"I've been keeping you hydrated," I said. Shows that I care.
"Thanks. I didn't know I could even drink water," she said. I hid the tube.
"I read on your chart that your name's Darla. Sounds like a corny country singer's name." Boy, I have to hand it to myself - I can really lay on the charm.

It wasn't long before security escorted me out, but those several hours before she could hit the panic button were magical. You can't win them all, but I consider this one a win. Just because it ended doesn't mean it was a waste. Also I don't care that she ended it as soon as she was lucid enough to realize who I was. The important thing is she loved me, probably. At least by accident in a coma dream, I bet. Anything can happen in those.

Maple-leaf was waiting for me outside. They wouldn't give a horse unemployment. (I tried to tell him that. Horses don't pay in to unemployment insurance while they're employed, so how could they receive it when they're not? Use your brain, horse.) We barked philosophically about injustice, the universe, and the tendency of chaos to create order, at least in the feeble mind of mortals. I farted again, but this time there was no long line around to suffer a "trampling catastrophe," as the press so unfairly called it. I would've called it a trampling inconvenience, leading to a date. But they never tell the little guy's side of the story.