"Who do you think is pulling the strings here?" he ask.
"Well, I thought I was," came my reply.
There is a tug of the string and involuntarily my arm is almost jerked out of its socket.
"Well what do you think of that?" he ask.
"Hey, cut that out," I screamed.
"Cut that out? Cut that out, you say. Well you little ungrateful . . . without me you would be nothing but a pile of rags, bones, and fecal material. It is I that makes it possible for you to live, to eat, to breath and don't you ever forget that! I am the "Puppeteer of Work" now haul your sorry ass of of bed and get to work.
5 comments:
Been feeling the same damned way, lately.
Bitch! Get your ass out of bed. *wink*
We all have to work. Get over it. You're not Pinocchio. Though something's getting larger.
spencer, thanks my friend.
brad, it is nice to hear I'm not in this boat alone, just keep paddling, we'll make it to shore.
jetboy747, aaaahhh, Do I have to? Can't I just lie here a few more minutes.
Do those strings EVER get cut?
spider, I can think of only two ways, winning the lottery (which is highly unlikely) or when the sissors of retirement come along.
Post a Comment