Me, The Copier Guys and the Pop Tarts ...

[Digital Prophet]

So here I sit. Patient. Calm. Passive. Yup that is all me. Why am I sitting at my desk working while everyone else on the planet is at the internationally recognized and designated temporal coordinates hereto known as lunch? Because the copier guys are late.

But I am calm.

Sure I just dropped $7,000 dollars on a brand new copier that is about 10 times bigger than what I need. And sure I am paying them every single freaking month since time immemorable to time inconceivable for a service contract. And sure I have been laid back about the delivery date that has been dragging out. And you could even notice that I haven’t grabbed anyone by the scruff of their neck and slammed their face down on my old copier to see if I can get it to fit through the automatic document feeder.

Having said all that, do you think these people can come on time? People?!? Fiends! That is what they are. I declare that people they are not. No. These are minions of a greater darker evil. They are the dark incorpable evil that oozes from the branches of the trees in the orchard of contempt. They are the swollen glistening fruit of spite and hatred. The veritable vegetable blossom of wrongness. They are the brussell sprout of the technological world.

But I must remain calm. I can not become angry. I must assuage my hunger for a hearty lunch of revenge and suffering. I must have a Pop Tart.

Luckily there is a pastry dispenseory autonomatron in the lobby. A mechanical angel of angelic pastry dispensing mechanical goodness. That is what that machine is. A veritable saint of vending religiosity.

So I retreat to my desk, my den where I am unequal to the surrounding world. And I feast upon my tart that has popped. And I begin to wonder about the Pop Tart.

From whence does it hail? What bold mind saw the goodness that was the Pop Tart? Was it an invention of man or god? Was some ancient fellow on the road to Damascus with two pieces of unleven bread when he bumped into a merchant traveling with a jar of fruit jelly? Was such a calamitous event the birth of the Pop Tart, holy is thy name.

I feasted on my prey, my precious prize of pastry perfection, and I pondered.

Surely I must know all that there is to know about the Pop Tart! I can not rest. I can not sleep. I must not fail in this modern rendition of the timeless tale to tell the tale of tales that have been told. I must struggle. I must persevere.

I must know my quary. I must think like a Pop Tart. I must act like a Pop Tart. I must be a Pop Tart. Only then can I understand the Pop Tart. The existence and blight of the Pop Tart as it were.

But just before I went to cover myself in frosting and sprinkles and fill my gut with strawberry filling I decided to type Pop Tart into the Google search engine.

Who knew?

Prophet out.

[snidow]

One of us has too much time on their hands and I am not sure which one it is.

[srwatters]

Those poor Afghan people. Bombs on Tuesday, Pop Tarts on Wednesday... Or was it the other way around?

Welcome back DP. Nicely conceived, wrought, and presented.

I laud because a mind is a terrible thing to waste.