Another unattributed dialog adventure.

“So, how’s the new job at Burger King, Dude?”

“It’s awesome, man. It’s been two weeks without a day off—I’m ready to chill.”
“Did you get the movies?”
“Yeah. The Godfather, and then Scarface.”
“Cool. I brought the beer—are those weenie wraps?”
“Absolutely.”
“What’s in the bowl?”
“What do you think? I work at freaking Burger King, now, Dude! It’s Zesty Sauce!”
“No WAY!”

Bang!Bang!Bang!

“I know youse are in there! Open this door now!”

“Holy *^%?*(@! Get down!”
“Who is that?”
“Look out the window!”

“It’s two dudes with slicked-back black hair. They’re wearing sunglasses and those gloves without fingers!”
“Oh NO! I—I—I thought he was joking!”

“What are you talking about?”
“The manager—when I had my interview, he told me to guard the Zesty Sauce with my life. He said to hold on to it at all costs—to tell customers that we were out—or pretend not to hear them when they asked for it. He said if someone insisted on Zesty Sauce to only give them ONE. I thought he was messing with me!”

“My God! What have you done?”
“I—I took a box of it. I had no idea…”

“You are dead to me.”

Be well, my friends.

For many people, there is great inherent power within their SSDJ.
For the uninitiated, this is the acronym for Soul-Sucking Day Job.

Perhaps I should begin by explaining the Power of the Acronym.

Consider the following hypothetical, second-person scenario:

You have gathered with friends and relatives over a holiday weekend. Your chronically unemployed brother has prepared for the event by “stockpiling” some of his medication; provided by his Workmen’s Comp physician, Dr. Harmonius Feelgud.

Your group of ten settles in to enjoy a re-watching of Star Wars Episode One. The volume level in your sister’s apartment begins to swell, as many opinions of Jar-Jar Binks are shouted. Comments about the mental stability of George Lucas are voiced as well.

You are unaware that the neighbors have placed a call to Oaktree Building Management. Oaktree Building Management has called Local Police. Local Police remembers that FBI Special Agent Bradford is a resident of Oaktree Apartments. Perhaps he can do something.

You are also unaware that while you are currently just inside the western Kansas border, your brother and Dr. Harmonius Feelgud reside in the “Cool” state of Colorado.

Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Open Up! FBI!”

Contraband is flushed. Lysol is sprayed. Apologies and promises of responsible behavior are given sincerely.

FBI is a powerful acronym. Consider this alternate ending.

Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Open Up! Federal Bureau of Investigation!”

“What did he say?”
“It sounded like ‘artificial insemination’.”
“Emancipation Proclamation, maybe?”
“Did somebody order pizza?”
“I might have—I don’t remember.”
“I got it! I got it! Epidural Irrigation!”
“Here, hold this. I’m comin’, keep your pants on!”

The Power of the Acronym.

What is the power of the SSDJ?
Pain, my friends.

Didn’t come from money?
Grades not good enough?
Hate your job?
Hate what your future looks like?

Embrace the Motivational Force of the Masses.
Pain.
The Power of the SSDJ.

Be well, my friends.

Yet another unattributed dialog adventure.

“I’m beginning to worry about Mephistopheles.”
“Why?”
“It’s about that time, you know. He turns thirteen next month, and the hormones and the teenage rebellion are starting to rear their ugly heads.”

“What is he doing? I haven’t noticed anything.”
“Well, of course you haven’t. You’re not here enough—you spend so much time at your sister’s Tattoo Parlor, and with those friends of yours and their Thrash Metal Band—”
“Hey, they’re getting some attention from some record companies, Babe. They’re going to need some help with the equipment and the sound system.”
“Did you see what your son wore to school this morning?”
“No, I didn’t get home until four. He hasn’t been in my Spandex closet has he? That is strictly OFF-LIMITS.”

“Oh, no. He left here this morning wearing a white button-down collar and a navy blue tie. He must have used his allowance for a haircut—a ‘corporate-conservative’ haircut.”
“He WHAT? Does he think he can just act however he wants to? As long as Mephie lives in MY house—”
“He doesn’t go by ‘Mephie’ anymore. He tells his friends that his name is ‘Paul’.”
“We’ll see about that. I’m going to march right up to that school and set some things straight. What classes does he have this morning?”
“First period he has ‘Introduction to Corporate Structure’, followed by “Accounting Practices in the New Millenium”.
“Oh, my God. It’s worse than I thought. I may have to catch him at lunch.”

“Good luck with that. Today is Wednesday, which means that he has lunch with the interns at the downtown Brokerage Firm, while they listen to guest lecturers discuss new tax legislation.”
“I’m not feeling so good…”
“Don’t beat yourself up about it. Parents have been dealing with rebellious youth for centuries.”
“Where did we go so wrong? We’ve done everything we could to lead him in the right direction, and now he seems determined to throw it in our faces and continue down this insane path.”

“Let’s try to keep our chins up. The holiday’s are coming up—you should spend some time with him. We’re leaving for your parents’ farm for Thanksgiving in about a week.”
“You’re right. Let’s head over to the mall and get Mephistopheles some new outfits for the trip. I saw a really cool chain-mail shirt in the window at Hot Topic.”

Be well, my friends.