David Archives

March 23, 2007

David: No One Ever Gets To Do This


“Yes, Mr. Johnson?”

“I want that Johnson report on my desk by five o’clock or you’re fired!”

“Are you serious? I’ve been here nine years. I get my work done in a timely manner. My performance reviews are always above average or better.”

“What’s your point?”

“Given my work history, even if I were to fail to finish in time, I’m still one of the best employees here. I understand you feel the need to motivate me, but instilling fear for my job is not the way to go. It’ll be done by five.”

“Hmm. Yes. Well. Carry on.”

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March 26, 2007

David: Anything To Fill The Space Between Commercials

“Greetings, Professor. Welcome to the show. Tell our viewers about yourself.”

“Ah, yes, well. I study antidisestablishmentarianism.”

“So, that would make you an antidisestablishmentarian?”

“No. An antidisestablishmentarian is a person who believes in or practices antidisestablishmentarianism. I’m more what you might call an antidisestablishmentarianismologist.”

“Of course. My apologies, Professor.”

“Personally, I’m opposed to antidisestablishmentarianism as a concept.”

“Which would make you, and correct me if I’m wrong, an antiantidisestablishmentarianism antidisestablishmentarianismologist.”

“Exactly right. Sometimes, I perform short plays using puppets to explain the basic tenets and flaws of antidisestablishmentarianism. It’s a little something I call ‘antidisestablishmentarianismionation.’”

“And we’re out of time.”

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March 27, 2007

David: Know Thy Foe

“Ooh, shiny,” cooed the goblin as I dangled the medallion in front of him. He reached out to take it.

I pulled it away. “You want the shiny?”

The goblin pouted. “Give it!” it cried.

“Tell me where your master is, and you can have the shiny,” I promised.

The goblin’s forehead furrowed. He looked at me, at the medallion, at his own feet.

“Can’t betray master. But so shiny!” I let the medallion swing in the light.

He lunged. I was prepared. My hand closed around his throat, holding him at bay.

“No. Answer first.” His eyes begged me.

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March 28, 2007

David: Reflex

“It takes time for light to travel from the stoplight to my eyes,” the driver thought. “It takes another small but nonzero portion of time for the image to travel along my optic nerves into my brain. There is a slight delay as my occipital lobe processes that information, and another as the results are sent to the parts of my brain responsible for decision-making.”

“An interval passes while a signal travels from my motor cortex, down my spine, and into the muscles of my leg. The muscles do not contract instantly.”

“Therefore, I haven’t hit the brakes in time.”

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March 29, 2007

David: Cabin Fever

“It’s months since we’ve made port, Cap’n,” the first mate reminded him. “Between the fleets of the British, Spanish, and Dutch all hunting us, and your black spot keeping us out of the free ports, the men haven’t felt sand under their feet in too long.”

“Yar. How be our supplies?”

“We’re surviving on fish. The grain’s gone. The fruit’s gone or rotten. The rum’s run dry. I smell mutiny, Cap’n. The men are thinking of eating your monkey.”

“Yar. Announce an extra rum ration for everyone.”

“But there’s no rum.”

“Yar. The extra ration’ll take their minds off that.”

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April 2, 2007

David: The Difference Between Fame And Obscurity

Archimedes stood in the shower, absently washing off the accumulated grime of life in Syracuse, pondering the problem set before him by King Heiron.

The shower was one of Archimedes’ own inventions, based on his water-lifting screw mechanism. The idea had come to him while watching maidens frolic under a cataract. Archimedes sighed, remembering that inspiration, as the spray of water danced across the back of his neck.

The crown, he reminded himself. How to determine if it was solid gold without removing a piece to sample? Archimedes watched the water circle the drain, but no ideas came to him.

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April 3, 2007

David: One Of Those Days

My laptop crashed and refused to reboot. I tried calling tech support, but my cell phone wasn’t getting service even before the battery died.

I hopped into my car to drive into the office. As I was approaching an intersection, my engine died. At that exact moment, the power went out in the neighborhood I was driving through, killing the stoplight.

I tried to stop, but my brakes failed. The steering wheel locked up, my vision blurred through my glasses, and I hammered head-on into a semi, causing no damage.

The airbag didn’t deploy. By that point, I wasn’t surprised.

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April 4, 2007

David: Things Loki Is No Longer Allowed To Do

Loki may not steal Mjolnir and replace it with a comically large clown mallet.

Loki may not urinate on the Tree of Life, no matter how drunk.

Loki may not invite ice trolls and fire giants to dinner on the same night.

Loki may not place burning sacks full of Fenrir poop on the doorstep of the Feasthall of Valhalla, knock, and run away.

Loki may not dispatch the Valkyries to Midgard to buzz the homes of world leaders.

Loki may not send love notes to Hel signed, “Your pookiebear, Odin.”

Loki may not precipitate Ragnarok “because I was bored.”

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April 5, 2007

David: Declassified In 2034

“I’m afraid I can’t talk about that. National security.”

“Are you kidding me?” the reporter huffed.

“Suffice it to say this nation—heck, the world—owes that man a debt we can never repay.”

“Then why have I never heard of him?”

He looked indulgently at the reporter. “Exactly.”

The reporter turned off her recorder. “Okay, you win. Now, off the record: what’s the deal here? According to my research, he was nothing more than a shopkeeper from Indiana.”

The general checked for eavesdroppers, then leaned in. She sidled up next to him, the better to hear him.

“National security.”

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April 6, 2007

David: Then The Other Guy Ordered A Footlong

He studied the menu. “I guess I’ll have the sausage, make it polished.”

“Dude, what?” asked his companion.

“What? That’s what it says in the menu. ‘Sausage, polish.’ Never had it, thought I’d try it.”

“Dude, that’s ‘Polish sausage.” Like, from Poland? Snerk.”

“Don’t laugh at me, man.”

“Hehe, you want your sausage polished.”

“Shut up, man!”

“You sausage polisher. Waitress, make sure it’s a big sausage. I hear he likes to polish big sausages.”

“Your mom polishes big sausages.”

“Dude, that’s not cool.”

The waitress stood silently, pen in hand, trying to shatter the salt shaker with her mind.

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