Predator Press
[LOBO]
After four days of unchecked growth, it was admittedly less like shaving and more like
carving. Still, all cleaned up, I felt strangely giddy and lucid for the day ahead; within an hour I was at the employment facility -completely transformed from a person into shaven and spiff Subject 26 of Unit R.
The truth is I don’t mind the interviews and tests so much, but I
hate filling out applications. It’s sooo repetitive. And pointless too if you think about it: I’m very pleased with my résumé ... why scrawl all that same information over and over and over by hand? I'm very, very busy busy being unemployed, and have better things to do than happity horsecrap. What am I,
Jobe here?
Anywho, due to a scheduling snafu today was “Surprise Prospective Employee Aptitude Testing Day,” and four grueling one-hour tests and five hours later I staggered through our front door fini. Terri, already aware of the testing by virtue of a text message I managed to squeeze off, was already home and waiting.
“How did it go?” asked Terri. Noticing the shave, “You look nice.”
“Good I think,” I replied, buzzing with the dancing numbers, formulas and symbols seared painfully in my mind. Still, I felt unconsciously impelled to make excuses in case that wasn’t true. “I kinda struggled with the Math and Analytics parts though. It was tough to finish on time.”
“I’m sure you did fine baby.”
“The results should be available online already,” I reluctantly offered. In truth I was a bit burned out; the last thing I wanted to deal with at this moment was more test-related material. But -as was inevitable- curiosity prevailed.
As Terri logged in I lobbed more excuses.
“Threes are passable,” I volunteer. “Most serious jobs require a score of four. Engineering-type jobs require fives.”
Oh please God gimmee some fours.
“But threes are passable,” I repeated nervously. “I was pretty distracted toward the end. You know these tests are
crap. And with the shabby way they are administered, I seriously doubt they produce an accurate assessment of-“
“It says you got a seven, two fives, and … and another seven.”
There’s a seven?
“And according to this,” Terri continues, “seven is the highest-“
She stops in mid-sentence, despite knowing fully the damage has already been done.
“Genius,” I says from over her shoulder. “I
knew it.”
Without looking at me, Terri slumps into a slightly defeated posture.
I recognize her 'slightly defeated' posture. I know it because I’m a
-“Genius,” I repeat, nodding.
Terri, collapsing into the keyboard, sighs. “Oh Christ.”
“Please do not blaspheme in My Presence.”
“You put two CDs in the toaster yesterday.”
“And they sounded
amazing,” I insisted. "C'mon. You're
looking at irrefutable proof. These tests are very scientific."
“You’re going to be unbearable for weeks now, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” I says coolly. Then, leaning in, I whisper in her ear. “Hey baby. Wanna get ‘wild an freaky’ with a bona-fide
genius?”
Terri smirks, sitting up. “I don’t think so. But let me know if you see one. I might change my mind.”
I shrugged with disappointed resolve, sighing. "Okay."
-And then farted.
***Despite my genius, I have no idea what I would have done if she said 'yes' anyway. I suppose I could have risked serious injury and held that fart in for a while longer, but the only thing worse than serious injury to myself would be
me causing serious injury to myself. Let's just say we were probably better off letting things play out like this ... just exactly the way God -in His Infinite Wisdom- obviously intended in the first place. And who am
I to stand in the way of His Almighty Will? Hm? I don't know about you, but
I'll not be causing myself serious injury messing around with God's Plan, thanks. What are you people? Atheists?
And I don’t know how long Terri chased me -or even if she did at
all. Apparently it wasn't just some garden-variety mortal gas I passed: this gas -stewing on itself for five hours of earnest and excruciating job-hunting prudence and corked by a sphincter you could sharpen a pencil in- was some kind of unnatural lethal and unholy freak force of
nature: the second I saw that wallpaper curl and peel I became alarmed and, eyes burning, threw a melting end table through the living room window, thus selflessly providing clean oxygen and a single tenuous shred of hope for the remaining household occupants: my wife and kids.
I'm a
hero if you think about it.
Still, I dove out and continued to run a full mile in two minutes and eight seconds. Serpentine too, just in case Terri was still pursuing; there was a good chance her vision hadn't completely cleared up yet.
But there was no sign of her. So now I'm with no wallet, car, keys or cellphone, and -exhausted and a mile away- staring down the grisly task of going home to see if there are any survivors.
And I need a new living room window. And an end table. Cripes, I probably gotta wallpaper
too.
This ‘genius’ stuff is harder than it looks.
“I am outraged,” our source continues. “What kind of so-called ‘journalism’ is that?”
