Sunday, January 23, 2005

The Five Burritos of the Apocalypse

I just popped a button on my trousers.

Shit! Judging by the sheer velocity that my pants button just shot across the work floor and lodged itself into one of the barricading cubicle walls…it’s Diet time, fat boy!

That’s right! Time to shake off those excess “I’m quitting smoking” pounds that I’ve been adding on for the past three years before I won’t need Richard Simmons any more so much as I’ll be needing a fucking ballistics expert after I’ve killed the person working beside me at point blank range.

Who knew that getting to be such a large person was going to have the added responsibility of being a lethal weapon? That’s a responsibility I don’t need! Shit, it was bad enough knowing that I could turn this entire place into another Bhopal tragedy if I were to carelessly squeak out any of my patented toxic air éclair’s into my surrounding work environment. But now I have to also be wary of assassinating someone each time I stretch or stand up!

I’m a loaded fucking weapon! Cool.

But I'm sure it's soon going to get very tiring of having to first be conscious of who I’m facing before I stand up to be sure i'm not accidently facing anybody I like or who I wouldn’t particularly want to see come to any unintended harm.

I feel like the newest addition to the ‘Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse’…Fat. Now, riding out of the very pit of Hell would come the new Harbingers of Death: Plague, Pestilence, Famine, War, and Fat. I’d be the tubby Angel of Death that’s always out of breath and riding on his slower, fatter burro a little ways behind the other riders gorging on Twinkies and Taco Bell burritos that I had previously stocked up on and squirreled away into my saddlebags at the last Rest Stop.


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