Lunatic Monologues:  Superpowers

Oh, good!  A cellmate.  I like having a cellmate.  It's good to have somebody to talk to, don't you think? 

They told me not to tell other people why I'm here, but they can't make me be quiet.  I know the truth. You see, I'm here because I have superpowers.  They're afraid of people with superpowers.  So they locked me away in here where I can't use my powers.

I discovered that I can open doors.  All I have to do is wave my hand, and the doors open.  Sometimes I only have to think it.  Not all doors.  I can't open these doors.  They made sure of that.  Mostly doors into businesses.  I can walk up to the door at the grocery store, wave my hand, and it will open.  It kinda freaked me out at first.  I could walk right into the hardware store with just a nod of my head.  I could probably walk right into the White House if I wanted to.  Just wave my hand.

I decided to use it for good… my power.  But they said I was scaring the customers, standing there by the door at the grocery store.  Waving folks in.  I was only trying to help, but they wanted me to leave.  But I didn't want to.  So they arrested me.  They called the cops and had me arrested.  I sure hope all those people are going to be OK.

So, yeah.  How about you?

Carl knew there was no way around it.  This was his bear to cross. 

Who says it can't last and last and last?
Each day just a little bit worse than before,
and the hopes of better times, no more.

Bull Sheet 

Five turtles met on the roadside,
all wanting to cross the highway.

The first turtle threw caution to the wind
and took out across the pavement,
and was promptly smashed flat
by two semis and a bus.

The second turtle decided to wait on the shoulder
for a break in the traffic,
and was promptly smashed flat
by a motor home pulling over on the curb
to switch drivers.

The third turtle decided to walk a half mile down the road
and cross over on a bridge,
but was chewed on by a dog,
dropped over the railing,
smashed on the pavement below,
and then run over by a Honda,
a pickup, and a minivan.

The fourth turtle decided to go under the highway,
and got halfway through the culvert
when a sudden rain storm came up,
drown him in the tunnel,
and washed him back out the other side,
where he was smashed flat in a rock slide.

The fifth turtle said, "The heck with this!"
suddenly seeing no real reason
why he ever needed to get across
the highway in the first place,
and went off and lived happily ever after
in a little clump of trees
at the edge of a junkyard.

Why I Hate My Job:  Interview #254:  Tuna Tom

Tuna Tom’s my name.  You may have heard of me.  I was the “Tuna Tom.”  Well, I mean, that isn’t really my name, but who’s going to buy a sandwich from somebody named Phil?  Back in the early ‘70s I started a chain of restaurants that sold tuna sandwiches.  You know, with wheat or white bread, toasted or untoasted – you throw in a piece of lettuce – you got a lot of choices.  It came with a pickle, too.  Not just a piece of one.  We’re talkin’ the whole thing.  And not those little ones, either.  Kosher Dill.  But only the pickles.  The rest of the place wasn’t certified kosher.  That’s a lot of work.  Everybody told me that nobody would want to pay for something out that they could just as easily make at home.  I was determined to prove them wrong.  And I did.  We had restaurants throughout the Northwest and was spreading into Idaho and Montana.  Then one day, everybody suddenly got tired of tuna sandwiches.  Either that, or it suddenly dawned on the morons that they could make the same thing at home but wouldn’t have to choke down an entire pickle.  In a way, it was a relief to be done with the business.  The most disappointing thing, though, is finding out that booze, women, and sports cars were not sound financial investments.  Never hire a broker who drives a car you can’t pronounce.  So now?  Now I drive a bus.  It’s a tour bus for OMG Tours.  I don’t own the company.  It’s better that way.  More of a profit margin and there’s fewer law suits.  We specialize in natural disasters.  We take groups to things like oil spills, floods, and forest fires.  I think there’ll be a big demand once we figure out how to book ahead.

At least Sisyphus
gets more exercise than I do,
pushing the obnoxious rock up the hill,
and he gets regularly scheduled breaks,
what on the trip back down.
There are no surprises,
no demands that he work overtime.
He never has to fill in for a sick co-worker;
no one expects him to push two stones
until McMurty gets back from out of town.
He never has to fake enthusiasm for his boss,
smile at the office party,
or buy presents for the secretaries at Christmas.
And I bet nobody expects him to donate a share of his salary
every year to some pathetic charity,
just so the office can have 100% participation,
and prove that he's a part of the team.
Quality Management.
World Class Customer Service.
A regular stand-up kinda guy.
He never has to worry that it will get worse.
And he never has to wonder if what he does
will really, truly ever make any difference anywhere in anything.
Of course, he is in hell.
So I guess there is a downside.