Sunday, 20 May 2012

PFFT! GONE. SUPER POWERS & CHILD REARING ADVICE

 
Consider this to be intermission. While I am experiencing a virtual cornucopia of weird side-effects, I thought I’d present you with the best laugh I’ve had in weeks. (By permission) a letter from a dear friend.
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I've always thought that an amazing super power would be to have the ability to "lift" energy of any sort and put it somewhere else. Like for example, take your headache "energy" and shove it into the skull of say, an unapologetic racist. But then, that would be a power that would require extreme responsibility and would be sought by all. So I had to scrap it.

Then for a while I was settled on the ability to make anyone shit their pants at my will. Great for political rallies and such, but not actually useful. Worse, it's only good for evil, unless I were to aspire to be the Mother Theresa of the constipated. No, no too much visiting hospitals there...

Ultimately, I've come to desire as my super power the following: The ability to spontaneously sublimate yourself and one or two people with you into an invisible, odorless vapor, and reconstitute elsewhere. Think of this! It's brilliant, if I do say so myself.

-stuck in the elevator? Pfffft. Gone.
-chased by a murderous mob? Pfffft. Gone.
-unbearable social situation? Pffft. Gone.
-couldn't be arsed to walk home? Pfffft. Gone.
-plane just burst into flames and flipped onto it's back? Pffft. Gone.

It's the ultimate "man-power" in my opinion, as mostly we men types are nervously eyeballing the fire exits and/or making excuses to get out of something.

No friend-healing applications however, so we're shit outta luck there. I suppose I could wish to go back in time and "try" in high-school. Maybe I could have been a doctor. I suppose I would also have to have not sniffed so much ether as well. Probably would have to avoid a few major knocks on the head as well.

You know what, fuck it. I could never have been a doctor. Even if I were twice as smart as I am, I still would not have had the discipline. Or the empathy really. I'm okay with this, but I had to get there on my own. See when I was little, my very-well-meaning mother made the massive blunder of telling me that I was very special, and that I could do whatever I wanted to do in the whole world when I grew up. What a terrible thing to say to a child!

The result of all this hooey is that you wind up feeling, whatever it is you're doing with yourself, that you must've at some point blown it. You spend a fair bit of time trying to figure out the exact moment it all went pear-shaped and wrong. It takes years to get to "Waitaminnit, I could NEVER have flown the space shuttle! Everyone in my family wears glasses and always has!" It's very upsetting.

Now if on the other hand, you tell your kids: "You are a lovely little boy/girl, but you have mine and your father's genes, so there's going to be some limits you'll have to work within. For starters, no one in your family tree has ever been much of a looker, so you'll have to be extra smart and charming. This you'll have to work hard at, as there's also a 75% chance you're somewhere in the more gaily--coloured part of the high-functioning autistic spectrum. You have six uncles with Aspergers.

Also, your entire fathers side are horribly bandy-legged, so forget sports unless you count race car driving. Having said that, there's more than a few lawyers in the family, and no (insert last name here) has ever been convicted of bestiality, you can look that up when you're older.

You're not of a particularly socially disadvantageous race or creed, and we might be able to scratch together a college fund for you so long as your fathers vasectomy is successful. I'd say you have a perfectly good chance of working for a municipality or even an ethical small company. Avoid the entrepreneurial stream, you're descended from peasants all the way around. Shoot for 'left-hand man' if you can."

Now armed with this, whatever you do (within reason) could very well seem alright. "Well, I'm a bus driver. Not too bad for the spawn of a latchkey kid and a wristwatch repairman."

What the fuck was I talking about?

Oh right, I'm sorry that I can't give someone else your cancer.

3 comments:

Marcia DeCoster said...

Providing a laugh while facing cancer....priceless

Cynthia Newcomer Daniel said...

Brilliant.

Howpublic said...

It's easy to provide a laugh when you have friends who are that hysterical. And he's like that to talk to - I can never believe the metaphors that spontaneously come out of him. Of course, I wouldn't want to say that makes him special. Heaven forbid.