Go to content Go to navigation Go to search

I wish


I wish I was one of those people that was so good at my job that at any moment some Army colonel would show up at my door and kidnap me away from my family in order to fight aliens, or terrorists, or an evil corporation, or the Catholic Church, or any combination of those. Like that River Monsters dude. I know that if, for some reason there was a giant fish eating kids who got too close to my frog pond and I actually wanted it caught and eaten, I'd call the River Monsters dude. He would show up a day later, with all the right equipment, wave his dick at the pond and that giant fucking fish would jump right out and die on the spot. He's the guy you call. I want to be that guy.

I can just imagine... it's mid-afternoon, I'm wandering the house in my sweats with my headset in listening to a conference call when, from out of nowhere, there's a knock on the door. I ignore it, of course, thinking it's either UPS, FedEx, or some asshole who wants me to do something or pray or whatever. Then, as it continues, I begin to get worried. So I sneak out the back door and around to the driveway side of the house to see if it's the mailman or the cops. (Sad thing is, I actually do this when someone's knocking and I don't hear the delivery truck.) When what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a vintage 90's Crown Vic in Army green idling away at the top of my drive. As I tiptoe backwards I bump into a full bird who somehow used his Army ninja power to sneak up behind me.
"Mr. dad?", he says, "Mr. mad dad?"
"Um... yeeeeees?", says I.
"I need you to stop what you are doing and come with me."
"You are maddad? The proprietor of Like a Train Wreck? The blog?"
"Who's asking"
"Sir, please get in the car."
"Am I under arrest?"
"No. Sir, we understand that you are the world's foremost expert in bad typing, poor grammar, penis jokes, and just plain douchebaggery."
"So I'm going to need you to come with me."
"Am I being detained?"
"What? No"
"I need to talk to my lawyer."
"That's not necessary. Get in the car."
"I'm not getting into the car."
"Sir, I am authorized to place you under arrest if you don't comply."
"Get in the car sir, it's a matter of National Security."
"Fuck you."
"Sir. Turn and place your hands on the hood of the car, I'm placing you under arrest."
"No. And fuck you, I'm calling 911."
"Wait! Sir. Hold on. Let me make a call, I'm sure we can clear this whole thing up."
"Yeah, well, while you're doing that, move this car and your ass out of my driveway and off my property, I'll be inside with my gun waiting for the rest of the "Army" to come and "arrest" me. Assholes."

As I go back inside to gather ammo and load my Mossberg pump, the colonel backs the car down the driveway and calls a special number from a super secret looking satellite phone. "This is Force," he says, "Colonel Rock, of the 45th Special Interdiction and Defense calling for the big Cheese. Relay, the duck is in the haybales. Repeat, the duck is in the haybales." Smash cut to the operator on the other end of the phone who grabs his headset, listens intensely, and whispers, "Jesus" before turning to the officer standing behind him. "General", he says nervously, "you're gonna need to hear this".

Some minutes later, I've finally found the key to the goddam breech lock and rustled up three or four shells for the shotgun and I've started to make my way to the driveway again when I hear the thump thump thump of helicopter blades. Soon, over the rooftops, Marine One comes into view and makes a majestic landing in my front yard. Once the blades come to a halt two tall men, one with surprisingly small hands, climb out and looks around. The small handed one looks at me, still in my sweats, and not having showered in so long you can smell my balls through my pants and says to the other man, "He doesn't look like much, are you sure he's the one?" The other man shrugs a bit, but doesn't speak. Then the small handed man turns and addresses me.

"Hello maddad. I'm President Trump. This is my top scientific adviser, Bill Nye. We need your help with a matter of National Security. In fact, it may involve the extinction of all life on earth."

"Huh", says I.

"Yes maddad. All life. And only someone with your special skills in douchebaggery and dick jokes will have a chance to save us. Will you help us with this menace? It's really huge. It's a big menace. The biggest."


"Really big. And we can get you what you want. We're really good at that kind of thing, the best."

"First things first then. That asshole," I point to Bill Nye, "is an engineer, not a scientist. So fuck him. He's an asshole who's been trying to fool the morons out there into taxing themselves to death so he can have sex with underage polar bears. Two. Get that fucking thing off my lawn. I swear to God, you will pay to have it fixed. And thirdly, I want a billion fucking dollars and the pothole at the bottom of my driveway fixed. Oh, and last, I want an apology from Colonel shithead over there for not knowing anything about the law and from you for the same, you ignorant shithead. You could have called and offered me a job like a normal fucking person, but NO! You didn't! And you are just DAMN LUCKY that the HHUUUUGGGGEEEESSSSTTT menace in the fucking UNIVERSE is MY DICK otherwise all this waiting around and flying in helicopters would be a real fucking problem, wouldn't it? Gotta phone? Can't make a call? Maybe all of us dying would teach you a lesson. Sending the Army... Jesus Christ you fucking jackass. Know what? Now I want two billion dollars. Fuck you. Pay me or go away. Shitheads"

Bill Nye turns to the President, "Oh yeah, he's the one."

Bookmark and Share


Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home