Note To Self
Remember that time you wondered if the chips¹ were done and … instead of lifting the basket out to look … you stuck your hand, wrist deep, into fat so hot it was frothing … grabbed some, pulled them out, looked at them, thought “That was foolish”, put them back, rinsed your hand under the tap and waited …
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And the searing pain that would let you know whether you could deal with it yourself or, more likely, would need emergency treatment for third degree burns in a hospital never came.
And the only conclusion that can be drawn from this is that …
- Guardian Angels are real.
- And you have had many.
- And yours were all on punishment duty.
- And you hold the record for the most number of guardian angels ever had by a human being.
- Because they have all been retired due to untreatable nervous breakdowns and even gone to the other side.
- Or you are the Chosen One, to whom no harm may befall.
- Or all of the above.
You remember that, don’t you?
Well …
One of these days, the Throng is going to down tools entirely on your account and refuse to return to their duties until they have a divinely binding agreement that, however heinous their crime against Heaven, before they are obliged to watch over your sorry arse they’ll just be kicked straight downstairs instead — because it’s a kinder punishment!
And the next time you do something criminally stupid, you’ll be on your own!
Sticking your hand into a pan of boiling water is not the way to give the noodles a bit of a stir and loosen them up a little!
Stop taking the piss, you dickhead!
[Footnote]
No, I have no idea how got away with it this time either; either guardian angels are real or I am just a born Zen master — or maybe just too stupid to get hurt, I don’t know².
—
¹ ‘Fries’ to you colonial heathens.
² I am to knurd as antimatter is to matter and my illusions are real— I don’t expect to get hurt, so I don’t.
