My Life @s @ Comic Book
Let me help you remember you after your head injuries by the
fists of a Neo Nazi at NYU. I am writing this to myself in the past. If you are
reading this it means I ceased to exist in the future. Here are a few tips to
avoid death and change the timeline for the better angels of human nature.
I arrived on the planet in the decade of UFO sightings and
Russia making science fiction science fact by launching the first man into
orbit equal to a flagship commercial for a little known company called Apple.
Here’s to the crazy communists for a rocket to the moon called The Dream, the
midwife of NASA. I cried when a doctor
slapped me across the ass. He told a Puerto Rican she was the proud mother of a
new American.
YOU’RE A SPIC, snapped a highly paid director at the agency
that was training me in media manipulation.
I am now in Ed Snowden mode.
I was recruited from a dead end job in a deli at the A&P
in The Village where I was also called by the lesser half of a detergent that
ends in Span.
A tall woman dressed like a spy in a London trench coat,
leathered gloves and a hat over her straw blonde hair appeared like a ninja and
gave me a test.
She wanted me to come up with a name for a pizza low in the
ingredients that kill Americans by raising blood pressure.
I asked her if she would like me to deliver or would she
pick it up.
With a smile, she waved goodbye in the background of
Campbell soup cans and walked out to the avenue of the Americas.
Pizza.
Pi.
3.14 measuring the circumference of a circle
314 calories
Pi The Smart Pizza
It took seconds to think it up after she left the
supermarket.
STOP DREAMING AND GET BACK TO WORK, snapped a little
Irishman, the A&P manager, whom I once caught eating a fried chicken leg in
the back of the deli when I was in the basement for containers and lids. He stole
from A&P. And he wanted me to raise prices on canned goods. You go my way
or you go nowhere, he warned me.
He wouldn’t allow me to adjust my hours so I can go to
school. Then his daughter, a college student at Iona, was in a car accident.
Before he left to the hospital, he asked me do a double
shift to keep an eye on the store because I was trustworthy, as the customers
at the deli would attest.
A scream froze the blood of every customer.
I turned around from washing dishes to see a hulk of a black
guy grab a fistful of dollars from the register of a Chinese American cashier
named Jenny. A little African American employee chased after the crook. I
bolted to protect him from a man mountain of malice.
As I ran, my red apron flew around to my back. My co-worker
later told every amazed customer he saw me fly.
The crook turned around and saw a fist gloved with pink
Playtex. I knocked him out in front of Saint Vincent’s Hospital and held him
for the police.
I am going to kill you, he growled as white liberals shouted
at me to release the black man. And I was like no speak English.
I imagine God asking me if I am telling Him the truth at
Judgment Day.
I imagine rolling my eyes in disbelief and asking God to
look inside my brain.
Duh.
You, dear reader, are reading my mind like God.
After all, you were
made in the image of God.
Double duh.
You an idiot, snapped Roger of Roger’s Comics on 14th
Street. Is A&P going to pay your hospital bills or your funeral?
Roger lost his finger to an escalator when he was a child.
His parents sued and won. He is the reason a law was passed to make escalators
safer for the public.
Unlike a NYC district attorney who thanked me, Roger gave me
the middle finger for my heroism as did the little Irish A&P manager who
LOL when an employee picked up the intercom and said, Super Man, save us.
There’s an oil spill in aisle 6.
I’ll have my revenge on them when I fly this nightmare to
DreamWorks.
Any day soon…
My Re@l Life @s @ Comic Book
Copyrighted 2017 by D@niel @ngel
@ponte
Mur@ls For Myself Un The South Bronx Of @dmeric@
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