My New Job

My job search wasn't going very well. It seemed I kept becoming distracted by YouTube videos of cats.

"Wow, I never realized the Internet could be used for so much more than stalking," I said aloud before there was a mysterious knock at my door.

Naturally, I was peeved. I'm the only one allowed to be mysterious here. This is my bachelor pad, and I'm the king of mysterious. But then, I don't knock. I tend to mysteriously kick open the door.

It was Claire at the door, along with her laundry. "I, like, need quarters," she whined. "Oh, my God, look at my, like, lingerie. It's so cute!"

"No, thanks," I replied. Suddenly, there was a sound from inside my bathroom.

Wait a minute! I'm not defecating. That must mean...INTRUDER!


I know what some of you are thinking. Perhaps grabbing a gun to shoot someone for using my restroom is a bit of an overreaction. But you don't understand! I'm in a bachelor pad now. That means there's only one bathroom in this place, and it's mine. A guy needs his turf, a place where he can be king, and nobody but me gets to sit on my throne.


"Oh, my god! It's, like, my totally sexy and totally cute uncle, like, Peter!" Claire celebrated.

"So, can I shoot him?" I asked with my sights trained on his forehead.

"Um, no, Dad!" Claire replied.

"But he sat on my throne!" I protested before giving in. "Oh, alright. What are you doing here, Peter?"

"My powers. Sadness and despair, like my soul, flushed down the toilet," he...answered? "What are any of us doing here?"

"Well, your soul better not have clogged it," I shot back, "or I'll have to use that special hair of yours as a plunger."

Peter finally went on about Hiro Nakamura wilting like a Japanese hasu flower and explained that he wanted my help in finding him a healer.

"Well, I have been looking for a job," I said. "How much does it pay?"

Peter's job paid nothing, which was actually more than I had been making as a professional cereal-eater. So, I decided to take him up on it. Before I knew it, I was standing in front of a shotgun wielded by some brat more whiny than Peter.

"Don't shoot," I suggested.

"Back away, man! I'll blow your head off, man!" the boy counter-offered.

"Look, son," I calmed him, "you're not a killer. You're a healer."

Then, Peter appeared from nowhere and the boy killed him!

"Hmmm...I guess I was wrong," I said kneeling by the soon-to-be corpse. "What do you say, tiger? Want to give healing another try?"

"I'm scared," he cried. "Everything I touch dies!"

"Come on, sport," I encouraged. "I'm touching you."

I guess that was all he needed, a little encouragement and non-sexual petting. It felt so right. Maybe it was because I always wanted to have a son, but something told me I found my new job, a job I was born to do.


I'm going to be a father!