Friday

So today I was cleaning the space around my computer, because I do that sorta thing every once in awhile (for instance, in this case once every two years), and I found this super old story I wrote when I was 9.

Hello, my name is Joe, Joe Kolophegis. That’s not my real name, but everyone calls me that. I have no idea why. Maybe it’s because that’s what I tell them to call me. Last Monday something magical happened…

…I got magical powers. I have no idea how, but I did. I pointed to this broccoli and in my mind I was wishing that it was a cake and it turned into a big three-layered carrot cake!

On Tuesday I made it so we had world peace that was really cool. The next day, Wednesday I made it so we had natural powered cars. Finally on Thursday I made it so that everyone in band played really well, which we already did. That’s stuff I wanted to happen.

But on Friday, something terrible happened. I zapped myself to the thing that gave me powers and he took them away. It was some creepy old guy.

I figured out having magical powers may not be all that good, because you could do bad stuff with them, so I don’t want magical powers anymore. It would have gone to my head anyway. Yesterday I’m sure I saw my sister’s celery disappear! Mary, I salute you.

Needless to say, this blatant display of lack of ability infuriated me. What are you doing trying to write stories, 9-year-old self? Don’t you know that that’s a big people’s craft? Bad past self, bad! And just in case you don’t believe me I’ll just do the honors of picking apart this sorry attempt at fiction and tear down any illusions of talent you may have had.

So first off, that name thing.  “Some people call me Joe, and I don’t know why, maybe ’cause I tell them to.” Of course. Thank you for letting us know. That was vital to our understanding of this shitty story. If I hadn’t known why some people may or may not call you something, none of this would have made sense. And that’s sarcasm. It would have made so much sense it was coming out of your ears. Well, no, not that much, but you get the point.

And then that segue between the first and second paragraphs. You’re all, “Wait for it wait for it…” and then there’s absolutely no enthusiasm when you pay it off. “I got magical powers.” Period.  Monotone. “It is your birthday.” And I know it’s not just because you were for some crazy reason against the use of exclamatory expression, or because you were very confused about what interjections were and the religious connotations in that School House Rock song, because you turn right around and exclamify as soon as you get your stupid freaking carrot cake.

On Tuesday you made it so we had world peace? That was really cool, huh? Just really cool. Very nice. And on the next day you magicked in some natural-powered cars. What are you trying to prove here, kid? Are you trying to win a Nobel prize with this crap? Are you gonna make some people  and then take a day off to rest on the sabbath? I mean come on.

And then on Thursday you made it so everyone in your band could play really well, even though they already did. Nice job, Sherlock, way to waste a day on a frickin wish that had already been granted. Basically what you just did was you negated all the hard work and practice all your bandmates put into their instruments and instead stuck in your magic.

Annnd on Friday. You decided that you would zap yourself to the source of your power… and then what? Chat about magic? Ask to go to Hogwarts? And the creepy old guy who is the keeper of the magicianship just, what, took it all away? Did you, like, piss him off or something? Or is the creepy old guy just as annoyed at things you’ve written as I am?

Either way, nice job losing your power in less than a week. That’s probably some sorta record.

And finally, what are you trying to imply with that last paragraph? That your sister suddenly got magic too? But she clearly wasn’t silly enough to think that writing some stupid story about it was a good idea.

So Mary, I salute you. Good job.

That was dumb, sorry.

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