Individual

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• Occupation: Human

One sunny morning in 1881, my parents birthed a brand new sucker. I started off life living and working as a mud farmer, the family business. Unfortunately, I wanted adventure, excitement, and the ability to explore unknown parts of the world.

So I moved to Kansas. I worked as a well known deep-sea diver for years before anyone told me that Kansas doesn’t have any oceans. It was then that I realized that life wasn’t worth living. So I climbed up a dangerous hill and walked off the edge.

After the knee surgery was finally over, I chose to change my name to Bartleby and work as a document copyist. Unfortunately, my business moved without me and I was left without a job, without a home, and all alone. Perhaps being alone wasn’t so bad, after all. I moved into the wilderness.

At a small pond near Concord, Massachusetts, I studied nature for the next three years of my life. I built a quiet home and a quiet living. Pure contentment as I rowed my boat around the nearby river-until that little Buddhist boy came knocking on my door. I took care of him for awhile and taught him to listen to the river. But that was too dull and boring, so I took off again.

To the city I went. I joined the local mafia and eventually rose in rank to become the head of the family. Life was good and plentiful. Beautiful women, beautiful cars, lots of money, and the ability to whack anybody who came my way. But then WWII began, and I had to support my home country.

I began my lucrative military career in Nazi Germany. “Laos” this and “Schnell” that. It was wonderful. The one drawback was that it was really hard to ascend the nazi ranks while being a practicing Jew. So I planted a bomb in Hitler’s personal airplane and hightailed it out of there.

After the war, I moved to New York. However, being a fighter pilot, it was very hard to find work in the big apple. Then one day, a large, hairy man began to climb up one of the skyscrapers with my girlfriend in his hand. Just my luck! I used my skills to combat the beast, but it was to no avail. I lost my job again because of that incident. I was poor again, I was homeless again. Life just didn’t like me.

So I curled up in my cardboard box and quietly said my prayers. A carriage pulled up to my box and from inside, the angel of death beckoned me. He said, “I’m sorry, but your time has come.” “What is it?” I replied. “You must tell me how to get to Electric Avenue.” And so I told him. Off he went, as I wondered how purgatory feels.

Purgatory is a nice place. They have hot coffee and all the cookies you could eat (if you had the stomach for them). Best of all, they have working computers with broadband connections. Life-or I should say death-doesn’t get any better than this.

The end…for now.

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