Thirsty

Tarnation! I have never been so thirsty in my life. When I signed up for this "Genuine Desert Adventure" I assumed there would be amenities, man. Little umbrellas in my drinks, an ocean view, that kind of thing. Instead I find myself in the middle of the middle... east. I mean, who in their right mind goes on a vacation in the middle east?! It's a war zone! The travel agency said nothing about sectarian conflict. But then again, my travel agent is a convicted felon who introduced himself as "someone who has made, and will continue to make, consistently poor choices." Most people would hear that and a warning bell would go off in their uvulas. Not me. I'm more "evolved," you might say. When I was 17, a radioactive spider bit me. Also, I ate a meteor.

By my fortieth birthday my powers progressed to the point where I was able to not only fly, but sky-waddle! It's like walking, but you're levitating. The first time I tried that was 1912. On the Titanic. It didn't end well. After my fancy-pants lawyers managed to scapegoat a family of foreign-born icebergs for the tragedy, the League of Metamen paid me a visit. This was way before the age of comic book superheroes. The benevolent beings we know today as "superheroes" were then called Metamen, and were all from the same Iowa town. Ever wonder why superheroes fight for "truth, justice, and the American way?" It's because all modern superheroes are the spiritual descendants of the Metamen, who were basically goody-goody farmhands. Anyways, the Metamen broke my front door down (they paid for it, don't worry) and demanded--demanded!--that I, the great Taker of Gist, cease using my powers for evil purposes. Well let me tell you, I capitulated completely. I gave in to every single demand they had. It was as if some kind of ethereal force awakened inside my blistering gizzard, imbuing me with a momentary spark of divine knowledge.

Turns out, my appendix exploded. You don't need to be a baby Einstein to know that while the appendix is the most useless of organs, its value as a pain inducer is immeasurable. I spent over a third of my life recovering from the trauma of losing my appendix spontaneously, but you know, you've gotta get over these things. I only wish those "Make a Wish" people just couldn't wrap their brains around that. I mean, I tried to tell them I was fine, but those arrogant fools wouldn't leave my side during the whole ordeal. They insisted on reading to me, bathing me, feeding me through a tube... enough already! I get it! You're going to heaven! Stop rubbing it in my face, all right?

Giving Thanks

The table was mighty cold this year; fuel (including glorious coal) has been going up in value ever since I was a toddler. It's getting to the point where not only am I not thankful for the high prices, but I'm actually starting to complain. Never before in the history of my life have I complained about anything, as my kindergarten teachers can attest. That's right, teachers. Plural. I had a real problem with my first kindergarten teacher (Miss Shelley), the way she would always make us recite the pledge of allegiance every morning to--not the American flag--but a bust of Ozymandias. Yes, that Ozymandias. When we asked--nay, begged--to pledge allegiance to the flag, she would cackle like some kind of storybook villain. Needless to say, her reign of obscure 19th century poetry love was brutally crushed by administrative dignitaries from the district office. And I... I was a mere child, caught in the crossfire of something I couldn't understand.

My second kindergarten teacher was a little nicer than that, but barely. Now, Ms. Washington-Lincoln-Jefferson-Roosevelt-Reagan never made us violate one of the ten commandments by praying to a graven image, but she did something far worse. She taught us to believe in ourselves. "What can be so bad about that?" you ask. Shut up. Maybe you can handle believing in yourself, but as someone with megalomania, I can tell you that it was a one-way ticket to juvenile hall. Telling psychiatrists about how you filled your uncles boots with fire ants is never a good idea, by the way. Just keep that one under your hat.

They say the third time's the charm, and as far as kindergarten teachers go, the saying rings... hollow. Yes, my third kindergarten teacher was by far the best, but he was comatose. At class parties we would dress him up in a little hat and piano tie and see if we could wake him up by shouting, but he never did. We never even found out his name, but he was good. I learned more in those last two months of kindergarten than I learned in the following thirty-four grades that followed. Remember, grades you repeat still count. So what I'm trying to say is, I'm thankful. I'm thankful that, despite the best efforts of the comatose, the poets, hippies, and "The Man," I managed to survive to reach the ripe old age of infinity. As Archduke Franz Ferdinand said at 10:00 a.m. on June 28, 1914, "I am invincible! No one can stop me now!"