Wobble Table

Lucky for me I picked the wobble table at Border's where I sit people watching/staring uncomfortably at everyone around me. I'm not quite certain if I am people watching or if I am just a really lazy stalker. Certainly I would love to follow some of these people home, but that would mean having to repack my bag and I just sat down. This laziness is the same reason why I sit here at this rickety table instead of just moving 5 feet to a more quality manufactured product. Additionally I am located right next to a plug, which is crucial when using a lap top in public. Instead of having to interrupt someone by crawling under their table looking for an outlet to plug my computer into people will have to come crawling under my table. Stinks for them, I have a hole in my jeans and rarely wear underwear. So tonight I am the power outlet gate keeper, yet I feel that the two plugs here are insufficient. Next time I will bring one of those power cords with 16 different outlets attached and dance and sing "Plugs! Plugs, plugs for everybody! Except for you sir." Whenever you are involved in a fun activity I find it is very important to intentionally exclude someone in order to make your activity more exclusive. In order to dance on the table like I hope to do while whoring out my power cord I will have to solve this wobble problem first.

I thought I was sly when I put a little notebook under one of the table legs, assuming it would promptly correct the rather irritating wobble situation. Feeling smug and proud, I took a sip of my hot green tea and looked around to see if anyone noticed my cunning - nobody did - which is for the best considering the table merely wobbles in the opposite direction now. It was a crushing defeat and I'm afraid that if I get a little too enthusiastic about indenting a paragraph the entire thing is going to crash over, leaving me in one of those "Ha-ha" situations where every one stares at you and you try to shrug it off, like you're in on the joke, even though you're secretly mortified and strongly considering smashing a window out for a quick escape. Which brings me to my point.

In my dream world I don't ever exit buildings through the front door, I merely smash out the nearest window and flee- swiftly. I should also add that in my dream world I am rarely, if ever, injured by broken shards of glass, unless it's a very well placed cut above my eye that makes me look tough and attractive to damsels. Perhaps not damsels. The only time you hear a woman referred to as a damsel is when she is in distress. I appreciate the damsel's predicament but can't be bothered with spending my weekend running around and jumping fences in order to save a damsel from whatever the hell damsels get taken prisoner by. Furthermore, who's to say this damsel doesn't want to keep being taken hostage? Women have a funny thing about making men prove themselves in order to be certain they are dating an appropriate mate. This is an understandable part of evolution. Women can't just come right out and ask men "Are you reliable and industrious? Can I count on you to fight for me?" because men, being reliable and industrious, will lie. Therefore women have inherited this tactic of trickery from their ancestors, which leads us to conclude that men are easily manipulated liars and women are not evolved.

Moving along.

I feel my inability to solve this wobble table issue is likely to cause me to die alone. We have already established that women, although un-evolved, are attracted to capable men. By continuing to sit here and type on this see-saw I am showing that I am less than capable, which results in nobody loving me. Sad!

Yet being a male and naturally inclined to lying I am happy to inform you that I have rectified the situation; the table no longer wobbles, I built a log cabin, I have a good job, and I drive a Corvette. Now please tell me about your day, because I am interested.