To begin, I want to acknowledge that I accept the fact that there is a certain hierarchy to how the Universe functions; the Big Guy is too busy to meddle in the affairs of a little speck like The Hook, so he designates an underling to handle how my life unravels. I guess I should have said “unfolds” but you get the picture.
I don’t know who my case worker is, maybe it’s Mistress Fate or those three old chicks who weave the tapestry of all our lives, but whoever it is, they really suck at times. They say everyone has to deal with a little rain in their lives, but most of the time I’m in a flood of insanity on a leaky version of the S.S. Minnow captained by a rotating succession of douchebags whose sole mission in life is to strand me on the island from LOST!
I’m betting I won’t have as much fun as those people did though.
Everywhere I go, douchebags are waiting for me – the cashier at Wal-mart who whines when I reject an offer for a MasterCard, denying her a commission for every moron she cons or the social worker who came to my house after my daughter was born to counsel my wife on childcare only to break down in tears over her inability to have her own spawn!
And then there’s work.
I’m pretty sure my place of business was built on an ancient douchebag burial ground. There is just no other rational explanation for the sheer volume of douchebags who pick The Hook’s exact location at which to infest with their little rugrats and coolers, laundry baskets and boxed wine.
Don’t get me wrong, Universe, I have a great life compared to most, but everyone has their limits. If you really want to screw with someone, try that little teen idol with the lesbian haircut. Or what about Britney Spears? You haven’t messed with her in a while.
Just go easy on The Hook, please? I’m getting older and balder by the second.
Thanks for listening, Universe.
Until next time, this is The Hook imploring you, please don’t be a douchebag – I can’t take much more.