By Arson
Jeremy Brine watched too much food channel, and too much science channel. He overanalyzed and overate. Nothing wrong with excess and appetite if you plan to leave a good looking corpse and frustrate wall street creditors in the end.
In his overabundant spare time, Jeremy invented odd things. He disdained the normal wage slave lifestyle as the normality got in the way of his preferred rituals of slouching, belching, sleeping, and waiting for that inspirational blink where all ideas come into confluence and he was drunk with brilliance. He lived alone so no one could steal his ideas. He communicated via email so he didn't have to take biweekly baths. Alone in his domain he was perfect and there was no one to dispute his genius.
On this particular foggy evening he was watching a baseball player on TV shoot three perfect fastballs past the best hitter in the league. That's me, he reflected unlikely, but inevitably. The night air breezed in suddenly and gave him a finer whiff of BO-less atmosphere. He contemplated shower, but his hunger beckoned for resolution. Why not, take a bath, he conjured, but combine it with the miracle of ready made food. A quick step in the kitchen, and his maestro mind concocted the miracle of edible miso soap. I'll make millions, he conjectured excitedly. Was the world ready for such miracles? No, thought the little creatures in the walls and like tiny soldiers of fate they conspired to turn on his hair dryer and push it off the bathroom counter where it fell into his steaming wet bath tub.
Rats!
3 hours ago
