So another day goes by and I sit here sipping my Starbucks. Then I am rudely notified by Tara (who was dressed up as Carl Jung) ash she came rambling into my inner sanctum of the Carreon cave. What does she have for me? THIS! Serenity of self love shattered. Shattered I say. Some things you accept gracefully, but I am not, and I will never be, a jelly bean accountant. What sort of job is that anyways? Who counts jelly beans all day other then Tara occasionally?
It’s been weeks since we left our house. The conditions have become squalid and unbearable. I haven’t had a latte in forever and feel like the world is coming to an end. Why won’t these Illuminati leave me be? Every door knock, telephone ring, and stranger on the street could be an agent of my nemesis, the Oatmeal. We are running low on supplies, we’ve been subsisting off of saltine crackers and ketchup for 3 days now, and I am tired of using supermarket ads for toilet paper. Our television broke a week ago too, so I’ve been flipping through my only entertainment, a binder full of women.
I am back in my undisclosed mud cave impenetrable underground lair. The Illuminati are every where now and I’ve had to go black from the last several hours. Only now as Tara pedals our old exercise bike for our generator can I boot up the old Tandy 1000. It’s been a hectic 24 hours and I am unconvinced that the CIA doesn’t know what I am up to. We have began to build our dinosaur cloning device. I am short some materials so I will list them below, encase you can help supply them. Items crossed out are already ready to go.
15 empty peanut butter jars, preferably Skippy brand.
3000 yards of aluminum foil.
3 sporks.
500 yards of duct tape.
1 modern PC.
3000 yards of unwaxed floss.
3 pounds of weapons grade plutonium.
3 sticks of Juicy Fruit.
100 yards cat5 cabling.
2 centrifuges.
A microwave oven.
9 panels of sheet metal.
13 hamsters.
M&Ms.
10′ of PVC piping, 2″ diameter.
Frog blood.
1 copy of Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton
Soon with your help we will raise a mighty Tyrannosaur Army to silence our critics and enslave those who would hack into my blog to post comments! I will suppress all bloggers including that Little Lying Bitch. My mighty reptilian legions will devour all detractors including Paul Levy, Cathy Gellis, Kenneth White, Marc Randazza and Martha Stewart (because we all know you can’t bake cookies that good without a heaping scoop of evil). Once they have fallen, my army will march upon the Halls of the Oatmeal and deal him a defeat that no Pterodactyl will be able to save him from. Anyone who says different is a quack. The only people who disagree with my mighty quest are Illuminati scientist who try to convince us that some invisible force keeps us from falling off the planet into space. How the hell would you fall into space? SPACE IS UP! Liars.
I though of something entirely terrifying tonight. What if my enemies already have a Tyrannosaurus Rex? What if it’s been some kind of cat and mouse game, but the whole time it was them just toying with me as a cat would do? That would mean that no matter what I do, they’ve already won…
I now sit here, pondering if dinosaurs sleep standing up and if they dream, and how to best pillage the money Mr. Inman has raised for my dinocloning laboratory. I would also need a good gag order from a court so that Oatmeal guy wouldn’t go blabbing to the internet about how I was try to steal from his “charity.” His internet gang are a ferocious horde or free speakers who will not be silenced no matter how much I threaten them with T-Rex destruction, I hate them, so I must silence their master before he calls upon them. It’s like what they did with my book on Amazon.com. Even my Tara can see the truth.