December 3, 2009

Citizens, I realize that your modest shacks are overrun with a variety of unpleasant visitors: cockroaches, mice, spiders, possibly fire ants–I don’t know your specifics. But I do know that the poverty I force upon you can only lead to one place: disgusting pests snacking on your meagre stocks.

But your Deep and Delicious is not you. No, citizens. My needs are greater than yours. My life is more extravagant than yours. Most importantly, My nerves are more sensitive than yours. And those of you daring to compare your desperate, tragic selves to your Cat’s Pyjamas will soon be welcoming My secret police and saying good-bye to your heads.

My sensitive nerves are currently being set on edge by the tiniest of small mammals, the mouse. Specifically, a group of tiny mice who are determined to invade and take over the mighty republic I have worked so hard to create. While I admire their tenacity and dedication, the fact is only one of us can rule this tiny country and I do not think the mice have the brain power necessary to deal with the intricacies of sending you peons to the gulags in the cold, cold north.

And yet, I cannot bring myself to kill them. Their determination and drive to hunt down the crumbs on My counters reminds Me of Myself somehow. They bring back memories of the early days of the IRJ, when I was just a young dictator still working to find my oppressive identity. Now I know that the brank is an effective means of keeping dissidents quiet and that some dissidents will not be quiet. But back then, oh citizens! It was truly a new and exciting time for your Above and Beyond.

These mice and their audacity, their ability to somehow squeeze through impossibly narrow spaces filled with steel wool designed to keep them out, it makes My heart sing. The tenacity, the sheer will to push forward into the great unknown.

These little rodents have something you do not, citizens. Hutzpah, guts, whatever name you want to give it, the mice are down on the ground, pushing against boundaries, looking to create new worlds for themselves and their families, while you, peons, are lying idly about your shacks, waiting for your Omnipresent to swoop down and make it all better.

Time to take responsibility for yourselves, peons. I cannot hold your hand forever. Best you learn this lesson now before you cross me through some minor transgression and lose your head.


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