Written by P.M. Wortham

Wednesday, 1 February 2012

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An alarm clock sits next to my bed, pushed to the far corner of the night stand and out of convenient reach but no matter, there is never a need to set it. For some reason the brain seems to rise completely on its own at 5:00 AM every day whether or not the rest of the body is ready to crawl out from the warmth and protection of a 20 year old faded and tattered quilt.

The basics followed. Remove the stink. Scrub the enamel. Drop a pound or two into a pool of exceedingly chilly water. I'm never prepared for that cold splash in the morning. It's like getting your face slapped. In this case however, it's just a cheek and a puckered eye.

Grey, black, blue or taupe? That is the question. For some reason I choose the color of my trousers first, not that I have anything against shirts or socks or shoes or ties. Perhaps the order of selecting my clothing has something to do with Maslow's Hierarchy of needs. Shelter and clothing are at the top of the triangle. Covering your junk seems to be the logical starting place, though I tend to put my pants on only after I've selected a dress shirt. A dichotomy to be sure. I stood there, looking. I wondered if I might be taking as long to select the day's wardrobe as my wife typically does. That thought motivated me and I thrust my hand into the closet, selecting taupe followed by a blue striped shirt, in the opposite order to how I would be donning each garment. Hypocrite.

I'm not feeling funny at all. It's early and I haven't had a taste of caffeine or a morning carbohydrate, or the religious experience of freshly cooked pork sausage yet. My knees ache a bit as I climbed down the stairs of my weekday apartment, and I made my way to the kitchen to prepare a lunch, chow a banana and rinse a milk glass I had left out on the counter the night before. Not the quiet morning nirvana associated with a fresh plate of eggs, sausage, hash browns and wheat toast but it was what it was. I grabbed my coat and made my way out the door with my head, much like this paragraph still void of anything humorous.

The mood just wasn't there. I know, I know. Writers write. Plumbers plumb. Proctologists, well, they do whatever the hell they do. Hopefully with a surgical glove employed as they do it. I like to think of spoof stories as I listen to the morning news. I'll catch the tail end of the BBC World Update with Dan Damon, followed by the national news through NPR. Aside from some political blather and righteous pontification from my favorite, poorly named candidate Newt, it was not a funny news day.

I soldiered on with what I'm sure was a pout while in my car.

Most days like this one, I find myself turning on the lights at work. Not that I'm trying to set any sort of example or win any points with the boss, it's just a habit that has stuck with me. I can get work done when nobody is around, and I can trade a little free time in the morning for the work I typically do over lunch. The morning then, is when I Spoof.

I'll take a half hour or so to find an idea for a story, twist it and crank out a Spoof or two before anyone else walks in the door. Yes. I'm a closet satirist.

Nobody knows who I am and I like it that way. I've not been able to break the news to my parents or my children. My wife suspects something isn't quite right with me, but I've been able to keep this embarrassment hidden away. People at work just think I'm good for an occasional snippet of witty sarcasm. Maybe it's just me that thinks the sarcasm is witty. Hard to tell.

Google News and Top Stories from the web are the next destination. Surely there will be something new and unique to write about, but no. Demi Moore, Heidi Klum, Newt Gingrich? Wrote it. Nicki Minaj banned from BET? Who cares. The NYSE/Deutsche Borse merger? ZZZZZZZZZZZZ. Can I get a fresh Diet Pepsi in the house? (I like the smell of coffee, but hate the taste).

The muse is not there. The story twist, the humor, the opportunity for a good Spoof isn't popping its head above the water line. I've got nothing, damnit. Nothing.

But WAIT! I've hit the refresh key and some new stories have popped up. Perhaps this will inspire me. Perhaps the funny is buried somewhere within. Let us see.

"Corvil Delivers the First Multi-Team Latency Management Platform".
"Europe Data Fuels US Futures"
"UN Secretary General Warns Senegal"
"DC Plans Prequel to Watchmen Series"

God help me.

There's always tomorrow.

Perhaps I'll update the OB&G blog.

Ah, yes. Special of the day: Chilled Newt Sushi in Romney Sauce.


The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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