So Says The Mouse In My Hair

In Which Pablo Meets His Enemy

Wow, that was quick wasn’t it? This blog has surpassed my wildest expectations. Which was easy to when you think about it. I have very low expectations. This comes in handy in so many different environments that I would actually advise it as a course of action for the rest of the human race. Now here he is, Mr. 600:

Pablo Jones was humming at his computer as he flitted between blogs. And then it hit him. He gasped. Well, he tried to gasp, but it came out as a hiccup, but it had the same effect, meaning he inhaled rapidly. Then he smiled.

Then he said, "Oh goodie! I’m number six hundred at this blog. How nice. I’ve waited my whole life to feel like I belong somewhere, and now I have an actual number that will forever and always be associated with me, myself and nobody else ever. Dude, I rock!"

And then Pablo’s computer froze, in the way that can only happen when you’re in the middle of a life changing epiphany. And then there was a knock at Pablo’s door. He really wanted to ignore the knock and nurse his ailing hardware back to health so that it could continue to show him how lucky he was to be such an impressive and invaluable number. He wanted to work on his acceptance speech.

Instead he answered the door. (If this doesn’t make any sense to you ask yourself why you have a cell phone if not to interrupt you at any possible moment in your extensively important life. Then it will make sense.)

"Hello? Can I help you?" he asked the form that was covering his doorstep. It was a harmless looking elder gentleman with an adorable smile on his face. He gave Pablo the creeps in the way that only a harmless old man with an adorable smile can do.

"Mr. Jones? I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time."

Pablo really wanted to say no. He had learned through past experience that no good came come of conversations with people who knocked on his door. He wanted to slam it in this man’s face. He wanted to yell and scream and scare this man away.

"Absolutely, come right in." he said. (Do you see a pattern developing here?)

As the benign old man crossed the threshold, the sky darkened. Then it lit in a stupendous slash of lightning, and an earth ripping peal of thunder. Fear gripped at Pablo’s gizzard and twisted it with an evil grin that only an inanimate force is capable of summoning from the pits of hell. But by now the sky had resumed its shining and the birds were chirruping and children were giggling in the street again. Of course he was confused, but Pablo had learned that when one is confused, one’s best course of action is to smile and nod. So he did.

"Mr. Jones, do you know who I am?" the nice old man asked.

Pablo stared at him for a minute. "Ummm, no. I don’t think I do."

"What if I do this?" The old man donned a blue trucker hat. You know, the kind with the really flat brim and the mesh stuff in the back? It was like that. But this one had some white writing on the front. It said…

And Pablo knew this man. But he was still confused.

"Aren’t you dead?" Pablo asked.

"I tried that, but you know how things are. I mean, I was down there, right? Watching the world go by, and I couldn’t help saying to myself, ‘Sam old boy? The world just isn’t as evil without you in it.’ Seriously, you guys have no idea how boring you are to watch when I’m not around to cause a ruckus. So I’m back for a second go round."

"So you’re evil then."

"Do you really have to ask?"

"And what are you doing in my house?"

"I just wanted to see your reaction."

"To what?"

"To me, when I tell you that I’m going to tear your house down and put up a Supercenter."

Pablo nodded. He decided that his confusion was trying to explain that he was missing something, so he wanted to go over all the pieces again. So he kept nodding. Then he nodded some more. Then finally something stepped into place…

"But isn’t that like, bad or something?"

"Bad? Of course it’s bad. And unethical. And immoral. Not to mention mean, greedy, and unfeeling. Why else would I be doing it?"

Pablo wanted to fight. He wanted to punch this dastardly, hugely successful, southern hick of a billionaire straight into a nice large pile of human feces. He knew where to find one too. The neighbors had been saving it for just such a moment as this. He could drag this undead moron over there right now and rub his face in it.

"So when do I have to be out?" he asked.

"You have two hours to set your affairs in order."

"And how much money are you giving me for this?"

"Well we’ve done our research on this, of course. I mean really. So we’re prepared to pay $1000 for the whole caboodle, it’s the going rate in Indochina you see, and then we’ll be free to sell it again for market value in the US."

"Right… Well I guess I’ll be seeing you then. Ummm, good luck or whatever."

"And to you, Pablo." And Sam patted Pablo on the back and smiled and walked down Pablo's little stone pathway to where it met the sidewalk and took a right.

And it was then that Pablo truly understood the evil that was that empire. To wish a man good luck, and to pat him on the back and smile and knock his house down, that was lower than Oscar the Grouch on a deep sea expedition in a black hole. And Pablo knew what he had to do.

To be continued…

My apologies on the to be continued thing. This is turning out to be much more involved than I had originally suspected. But I promise, I’ll get to the bottom of this.

posted by Sarah Eliza @ 3:43 PM