A third attempt at this blogging business.
|30DBC PROMPT: "I recently watched the new X-Men. Here's your prompt: If you were a mutant what would your power be and why?", courtesy of Noyoki .
Good evening, kind readers. Not gonna lie...I'm pretty exhausted right now and I'm having a tough time with these prompts. It was my first day back at work, and in the afternoon my ankle really didn't want to cooperate with me at therapy, so it's like I'm feeling a double-dose of frustration. Let's see what I can try to pull off tonight.
My lack of interest in cinematic adventures has been documented numerous times. I don't even know what an X-Man is. It's a comic book thing, right? Or was it a cartoon that became a comic book and then a movie? Fantastic Four? The Treacherous Three? Doug E. Fresh and the Get Fresh Crew? I'm at a loss. No really, you don't have to explain it to me...the chance that I'll watch whatever medium it is in its current state is virtually non-existent anyway.
But I suppose this "being a mutant" thing has gotta be pretty cool, since people pay good money to watch movies made about them, even if the original connotations of the word "mutant" are typically hideous disfigurements and whatnot. Why would I want that? Couldn't I just be normal and do normal-people stuff? I'd like that better...<insert tired, obligatory "I haven't walked normally in over a year and a half" comment here>. For real. I'd gladly take maneuvering myself pain-free up and down a flight of stairs over any other kind of freak accident that gives me a supernatural ability yet makes me weaker in one very notable, exploitable way.
Think about it...Superman and kryptonite, and...ok, I can't think of any other superheroes right now. Batman had Robin, which, let's face it, he's probably better off without. Aquaman...has to fight his battles in water, and nobody likes him enough to give him his own full-fledged movie franchise. There's always something with these characters that the bad guys know how to use to their advantage until the climactic scenes of their episodes. Why would anybody want to deal with that? Does Superman wake up some days all like, "Geez, I'm really sick of Lex Luthor's shit today...I hope he leaves me alone."? I'm sure if all he had to do to love up on Lois Lane was just being mild-mannered Clark Kent, without the threat of catching a case of the kryptonite cripples, he'd probably prefer that...provided that she wasn't setting up unrealistic expectations for him to try to live up to by constantly comparing him to Superman.
So yeah, no weird science experiments gone haywire for me...because with my luck I'd probably have like super strength or something, but be allergic to bees, and my arch-nemesis would be a psychotic beekeeper or some shit, and he'd unleash a whole hive upon me on the day I forgot to stick the EpiPen in my codpiece, making my awesome powers for justice and niceness utterly useless. And that would totally ruin my whole outlook on life.
BCF PROMPT: "You’re awoken from your midnight sleep in your favorite chair to your dog barking wildly in the living room. Pulling her aside, you look out the window, only to see a face staring right back at you. Whose is it? Why are they there?"
I'm not crazy about horror stories, because I don't find many things to be all that scary or shocking actually...but I think this would scare the bejesus out of me. There'd have to be some kind of occult-like behavior at play, because there is no good reason for me to be woken up by anything between midnight and, say, 4am. A bomb would have to go off underneath me, and if that were the case I'd probably just perish in the accompanying fire immediately afterwards...what my doctor calls "mild sedatives" that "stay in your system longer than Ambien" will likely do that to a person.
So yeah, there'd already have to be some strange things afoot at the Circle K, especially if I don't even own a dog. I somehow doubt Lassie would make her way toward me to tell me little Timmy is trapped in a well, and if my door happens to be open then chances are the creeper isn't trying to look in my windows...by the time I realized what was going on he'll be on his way to figuring out my bankcard is damn near useless because I'm pretty broke at the moment.
But let's pretend a little more, for the sake of finishing off the prompt. Because I sorta believe in happy endings sometimes, he's not your standard villain waiting in the lurch. He's actually the weird dude from Willy Wonka And The Chocolate Factory, Slugworth - the guy Charlie runs into after finding his golden ticket. And instead of wanting me to steal an Everlasting Gobstopper, he wants to buy my blog and turn it into a movie, but he'll sell out the character of me in the process, which leads toward a very uncomfortable evening. I mean, first there's a strange dog in my house, and then I'm woken up shortly after falling asleep as the result of a pharmaceutical...do you have an idea how awkward, dizzy, and confused you can be when you're still fresh from the affects of an Ambien or a Doxepin?
I eventually turn him down, because he's Slugworth, and he's a dick. Then I suffer from a series of bad decisions and unfortunate circumstances, which threaten the functionality of my life, and I begin to consider his offer...and just as I'm about to sign the contract and turn my existence over to the dastardly Slugworth, the same dog bursts in from out of nowhere and knocks the pen from my hand, causing me to reconsider. I tell Slugworth to eff off hard with a wiffle ball bat, my romantic love interest suddenly falls head over heels for me because I stuck to my principles, and my blog is turned into a lousy straight-to-dvd movie starring some washed-up child actor whose only goal in life is to make another movie so he can avoid jail time. I even make a cameo at the very end, saying something cheesy like "Dreams really do come true!" and giving a thumbs-up sign while I'm making out with my ridiculously out-of-my-league girlfriend.
Sometimes, dreams really do come true!
You have no idea how excited I am that I finally have a chance to use this song in a blog entry in a somewhat meaningful fashion.
THE DAILY BOX SCORE:
"Write a post in your Blog but three years later in the future. What will happen?"
I'm really bad at predicting the future, because it's kinda like lying in that if you do it often enough you sometimes start to believe the nonsense you're spitting because you want others to believe it also, and you're coming off like you're trying to convince yourself of what you want to happen rather than focusing on what you should be doing (whether it's living life as it comes, or telling the truth, or both). Plus, I don't normally read other people's entries before I write mine, but that's exactly what I did today and I don't think there's any way I can top Lyn 's or Char 🌈|Reviewing| 's entries (which are "Future Predictions" and "WDC Takeover and Mutant Powers" if your sole purpose for coming here was to read what I wrote but think you could be tempted into checking out better takes on this prompt).
So, anyway, here's what I'll be writing three years from now.
This one's about flying cars and bad jobs.
Nanu nanu friends! I'm chillin' in my driveway right now...just finished washing my Chevrolet Air Max space pod for the very first time...and it's about damn right we've finally got these flying cars. Wasn't I just bitchin' about that back in 2012 ("This one's about what we should've had years ago." )? For real though. I still see all you people drivin' your current-hogging electric cars, and I think "Geez, that's so bad for the ecosystem". I'm so glad I finally upgraded to this new mode of transportation, which runs on the tears of leprechauns and baby unicorn farts...finally, a sustainable resource we call all believe in. It's further proof that sometimes, our dreams really can come true!
But yo, that doesn't mean all's well here on planet Earth. Seems like no matter what galaxy you split atoms on, there's still gonna be shitty jobs that no one likes to do. Like, why did I even bother going to college anyway? All these "tech jobs" we were promised back in the day...everybody's got 'em. We're still slavin' away for that minimum-wage buck and strugglin' to keep the rent right. The problems don't go away; they just wear better makeup and scream a little louder when the judge says you should give them more of your paycheck
And then there's that Slugworth mawfugger, who keeps tellin' me all my troubles will be solved if I just sign over the movie and book rights for my life story to his production company. Says my fam will be taken care of and we'll eat good meals in that fancy pillform they got goin' on now, and I won't have to work another day in my life. I think he's full of shit, but what do I know? I only invented a virus-proof web browser and a top-selling mutli-player game app for Apple, like millions of other working-class stiffs out there.
Anyway, I think I better get outta here...I got a buddy who knows someone who says she's got a talking dog, but I'll believe it when I see it. Peace, and may the force be WITH YOU!!
Terrible start to my day: I have a pair of sneakers that, well, to be fair I've owned them for a very long time...I fished them out today because they're one of the few pairs of shoes that'll fit over my ankle splint, and when I'm at work I want to wear my splint because otherwise my ankle has a serious tendency to roll inward. I swear, these shoes were fine the other day when I went over to Capco to talk to my supervisor about coming back. Today, the soles literally disintegrated in my hands, right by the air windows, as I was working them on. Which meant no splint for me, because I didn't want to waste time fiddling with other shoes just so they'd fit over the sumbitchin' splint.
Even worse way to start off the day: totally wasn't paying attention on my walk to work, and I stepped in fresh dog poop. I don't think I've done that in at least twenty years. I thought it was an obsolete occurrence, because damn near every community has enacted laws stating that if you're gonna walk your dog and let it shit on the sidewalk, you're supposed to clean up after it. I may live in the only city in the free world that doesn't recognize this simple act of common courtesy, and I don't know why I'm surprised.
And yeah, by the time I got to PT this afternoon, we (my trainer and I) surmised that either I'm overdoing it at PT, or overdoing the exercises and stretching when I'm at home, because of the lingering pain and swelling issue. It's to the point that I'm now seriously considering a second opinion on my ankle, as my doctor has said I'll have to live with it and there's nothing more he can do with it. I don't wanna go that route yet- I don't know if my insurance will even cover it- but it's so aggravating.
Well, I think I've done enough complaining here for one night. May as well wrap this up before I get anymore crazy ideas and this entry becomes way longer than it needs to be. Peace, please save me from the superpowers that I don't believe in, and GOODNIGHT NOW!!