I arrived home yesterday, tired, but filled with the satisfaction that a good day’s work had been done. Granted, said work hadn’t been done by me, but I was pretty sure somebody, somewhere, had done it.
Actually, in all honesty, I work very hard. Very, very hard. So hard, that if I were to try to work harder, my fingers would actually disintegrate the keyboard I was using. The friction from the movement of my mouse would catch the desk on fire and my monitor would have a burned-in picture of my face from me staring at it so intently.
Nobody, I’m sure, would want any of that to happen.
NOTE: The preceding two paragraphs were for my boss’ benefit.
So, having arrived home, I noticed something unusual: the ninjas were all there, waiting patiently in that ‘waiting patiently’ way ninjas do. I readied myself for the usual ‘Monday Night Donnybrook’ when a ninja stepped forward.
“Greetings, Iron Polack-sama,” he said, bowing low.
“Hey,” I replied, cracking my knuckles. “Where’s Steve?”
“Alas,” said the ninja. “Steve-san is recovering from last Thursday’s crowbar incident.”
“Yeah, I got him pretty good.”
“As you say, o’ hirsute one.”
“So what’s with the whole ‘non-attacking’ thing?” I asked, as I stared at my small collection of weaponry. I had been using the mace a lot lately, so I went with the bayonet.
“You have a message,” the ninjas said, bowing and gesturing towards the answering machine, which showed a single red ‘1.’
“Really? Who from?”
“The I.R.S.” The ninjas bowed. “We are all very sorry for your impending doom. Please accept our sincerest condolences.” All the ninjas bowed together.
“Well, catnuts,” was all I could say.
Tomorrow: Part 2
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