3.02.2005

One Day, I Will Be Your God

I was born in the wrong medium.

My impeccably selected words should hang in bubbles over my head for the benefit of those too far to hear, lest some profound, life-altering pearl float from my mouth unpraised. I should be clad in molecularly-unstable, unspeakably form-fitting spandex, my waist Mary-Kate small and my chest Tom of Finland muscular. I should have minus 2% body fat - where fat owes me. I should be of a persecuted minority, born 'different' from the rest of humanity, and hated and feared for that difference. And I should have a cool codename.

Okay, so two out of seven isn't bad. But I'm getting pretty fucking tired of waiting for my superpowers to manifest. I mean, come onnnnnnnn already! What the hell?!? Despite countless childhood hours spent trying to guess the next card or move a pencil across the table, I'm still merely
 human, unjustly normal, my senses limited to the Boring Five, trapped in body fat and ill-fitting apparel. That little Anthony kid from The Twilight Zone was wishing people into the cornfield and destroying the planet when he was only five. Five! And here I am, a scant few years older, and people don't even so much as catch fire when I'm angry. Is a little telepathy or shapeshifting or something too much to ask for? I'd even settle for something lame like empathy or sour milk detection. Throw me a fucking bone.

But my lack of powers doesn't stop me. On a daily basis, I use telekinesis, sorta. [Ominous music.] Whenever the remote is out of reach, I approach a closed door, or a wall is too fucking smooth for its own good, my mind lashes out Carrie-like. Waves of telekinetic force ripple invisibly from my outstretched hand or flare silently in my lethal gaze. Except that nothing happens. The remote just sits there, mocking me; I walk right into the door, bloodying my nose; and the wall remains defiantly, infuriatingly unblemished, its plaster uncracked, its wood unsplintered, its paint unpeeled, adjacent co-workers-who-don't-talk-to-me uncrushed by the unrubble. I stretch my hand, concentrating as hard as I can (like Luke in the ice cave), but nothing happens. I'm still shooting blanks. And often attracting a crowd. "That boy betta check hisself." Duly noted...and don't think your mockery goes unnoticed.

But someday. Someday the name "Dajoro" will inspire both hope and terror. I'll descend from the burning sky - that's right, Jesus-like - looking absolutely fantastic, hair perfect and rearranging reality with a wink and a thought. Sure, why not: I'll save the world. But all those years of outrageous powerlessness and your hateful stares, drowning in this sea of The Common and Inferior, will have left him bitter. So he'll save the world and then conquer it. Dark Dajoro (whose likeness currency will quickly reflect) will be a benevolent(ish) ruler, though merciless to his enemies. And he will only speak of himself in the third person. When you hear the name "Dajoro," you will know fear, and lust...might feel a little gassy. Nonetheless! From my smoke-filled lairs/hash bars in Amsterdam and the Bahamas, I will rule you with sweet tyranny. You will love me. At long last.

When I take over, I'll be looking for a few good men to help me quash the sad insurgencies of puny homo sapiens. Clarification: A few hot men, who look fanfuckingtastic in molecularly-unstable spandex and my groping hands. My Brotherhood of Evil Cuties, my XXX-Men, My Undergear & Fitch Army will enforce my law across the lands [Hot Guys Cannot Wear Clothes, Lucky Charms Is a Food Group, Buffy Must Resume, etc]. Now I'm not naming names (Super Hot High Commander Colin Farrell and Personal Assistant to the Deity Brad Pitt), because that's just tacky, but I have a few future henchmen in mind. So send your headshots, nudes, and resumes to UCI Medical Center, Room 604. I'm the guy in the body cast (btw, I still can't fly) angrily reaching for a pen across the room.

[Tries to click Publish Post button with mind. Tries again. Angrily shakes fist in air.]

Oh, you laugh now. Enjoy yourself, go on, mock my impotence. But just you wait. One day, you'll kneel before me. I will be your god.

Fucking humans.

4 Comments:

Blogger Jaylivid said...

After reading this post..... I realised that you are so much like me its scary. Apart from the walking into doors and stuff..... I tend to stop just before anything like that happens.

September 15, 2005 5:17 PM  
Blogger Darren said...

Quitter!

That is why you fail.

;o)

October 14, 2005 8:03 AM  
Anonymous Dalton Crater said...

Where can I to learn abt it in detail?

December 17, 2005 8:07 AM  
Blogger Darren said...

[Types reply into decoder ring]

Nope. It doesn't know what you mean either.

December 17, 2005 1:24 PM  

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