Stock Photo Fiction

Our decision to not teach our children to walk was a tough one.  When I presented it to Shelley she said, “That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.”

“I want to turn the entire continent of Australia into chocolate in order to feed the masses.” I said, “There, now THAT’S the stupidest idea you’ve ever heard.”  I triumphantly through my fork down onto the dinner plate and walked away from the table knowing I’d succeeded.  I sat down in the living room and screamed the chorus of ‘We Are the Champions’ until I passed out.

There was an agreement in our pre-nuptual that if she divorced me because of a stupid idea, then she’d have to pay me 17 billion dollars.  Seeing as she didn’t have that kind of money, my idea rapidly came to fruition.  We had to quit our jobs in order to carry our children everywhere, so we couldn’t afford jobs to buy our children wheelchairs so they could move themselves.

“It’s kind of a Catch-22 isn’t it?”  I said to my wife in the middle of our children’s 5th grade history class.  She just glared back at me, having not spoken to me in nine years.

“I said, ‘ITS KIND OF A CATCH-22 ISN’T IT?” I shouted louder.  A couple of the other children in the class turned to stare at me.

“HAVE FUN WITH YOUR LEGS DUMMIES!”  I shouted at them.  I laughed loudly as the teacher came over to hand my son Timmy another detention slip.  Looks like I’d be staying after again.

When I was younger, all of my friends wanted to be firemen, or policemen, or astronauts.  I always told them “Don’t touch my Charlie Chaplin action figure,” but what I meant to say was “I wanna operate a machine.”

My dad was a lawyer, and he believed that if he loved and supported me enough, I could do anything.  I’ll never forget the look in his eyes when I graduated with my PhD in Biological Chemistry and told him I was gonna operate a machine for a living.

“Like an important chemistry machine son?” he said, trying not to cry.  I just laughed as I burned my degree on our gas stove.

“No dad, a machine at a factory that makes things.”  I named my machine “Machine” and got started the next day.  I was a whiz.  I pressed buttons (which I named “Button 1,” “Button 2,” and “Dad”) and the machine sprang to life.  It moved and whirred and I started to sing along with it.

“Machineeeeee” I said, trying to harmonize with a dull whine.

“Hey what are you doing here?” A voice yelled. 

“Just using machine,” I yelled back. “Machine!  Attack intruder!”

The security guard approached me and told me I had to leave. “Machine!  Attack Bad Man!”  I yelled louder.

The security guard tackled me to the cold concrete floor.  I looked up at Machine.  It had betrayed me.  I never wanted to see Machine again.

“You’re a jerk Machine!”  I screamed as I was dragged out the door.  “A big fat bozo!”

I was ready.  I had it all.  Beer. Check. Remote. Check. Scarf. Check. I was ready to watch the Superbowl. I had invited everybody I saw at the Public Library to my Scarf and Superbowl Party.  ”Scarf and Superbowl?  That’s odd.” they’d say, to which I would grab the book they were holding open it up to a random page, spit in it and hand it back to them.  That way they would be reading their book one day and all of a sudden they would see my spit.

“Not as odd as reading spit.”  I retorted and walked off, cackling like a cackling person.  I hoped that they didn’t go around and tell the other people at the library not to come to my Scarf and Superbowl party, because nobody was here.  It was a shame, because I had filled the swimming pool up with guacamole.  I thought it would be funny to hear guests say “Now THATS a super bowl!”

“Now THATS a super bowl!”  I said out loud to nobody in particular.  The game was starting soon.  I told all the library people to bring their own chips, and I had forgotten to get any of my own, so unless people showed up, I couldn’t eat the guacamole.  Unless I swam in it.

The doorbell rang.  My fist shot up in the air in a moment of triumph.  They had come!  ”Now THATS a super bowl!” I repeated quietly under my breath as I approached the door.  I opened it, but didn’t recognize the man at the door.

“Help!  My wife’s been in a terrible accident!  She’s dieing!  Let me use your phone!”

“NOW THATS A SUPER BOWL!” I screamed in the man’s face as I slammed the door.  What a big jerk.

I used to say that I was the best business man ever.  Even though I’m unemployed with no experience in an office environment, I look damn good in a suit.  Sometimes I like to put on my suit, put the perfect amount of product in my perfectly colored hair, and walk around the street talking on my phone loudly.

“I needed that yesterday!,”  I screamed into my cell phone.  A man sitting on a bench stared at me.  He was thinking about how important and business I was.  He was right.  “FUCK YOU DICKWAD!  IF YOU DON’T GET ME MY PRODUCT AT 10% MARGINAL RETURN, YOU’RE DONE IN THIS BUSINESS!”

My voice reaches a shrill tone that one only hears in important client meetings.  People around me are starting to stare.  They want in on my business!  I point at a woman and her baby and holler “I WANTED IT 50% UNDER MARKET VALUE!”  She ran away.  Clearly she can’t handle the fast paced life of a business man.  I’m getting angry so I eat my tie.  Luckily I have a spare.

Somebody tells me to stop screaming.  I say “You couldn’t last a day in my world buddy!” and then I spit on him.  People clearly don’t believe I’m the best business man.  I’ll show them!  I’ll get a trophy.