It’s been seven days since I’ve had a cookie.

It was Tuesday before I had noticed that I had gone so long without precious sustenance. At first it seemed sort of funny, in a “boy, this is sort of funny” kind of way.

But as the days drag on, the Funny-Ha-Ha Levels have dropped far below the Surgeon-General’s recommended minimum daily dosage.

Now… damn. I’m cruising on vapours.

But, without quite realising why, I have made a decision. Hell. I think we can call this a vow.

I will not just go out and get a cookie.

No.

I must wait for the cookie to come to me.

I am now in the hands of Fate, in the loving embrace of Chance, swinging in the hammock of Karma.

Destiny and I are taking a road trip and I just spilled orange pop all over the map.

Kismet and I just broke out of jail and are now on the run through the bayous of Louisiana, handcuffed together and bickering with each other every step of the way.

Sweet Lady Fortune and I have been IMing each other for a while and have finally decided to meet up for coffee but when we get to the coffee shop there seems to be some sort of open mike night going on and when I suggest that maybe we should try the Starbucks down the street she pulls me up on the stage and starts improvising some sort of spoken word piece about the indigenous tribes of Papua New Guinea and giving me significant jump right in any time now, chief looks and I’m furiously writing lines down on a napkin trying to come up with words that rhyme with “Bougainville”.

[Pause.]

Yeeeeeah.

Some cookies better show up pretty damn soon.

[Taps foot nervously. Twitches.]

Driving home from work, I pass a sign that reads:

TUESDAY SPECIAL
QUARTER ROASTED CHICKEN $5.95

And I have a number of thoughts, the first of which is:

• I believe I would prefer to have my chicken roasted for the the full four quarters.

Which is followed immediately by:

• Strip clubs serve chicken?

Which is right on the heels of:

• Are they really expecting me to chose which adult entertainment establishment I patronise based solely on the quality of their entrées? Isn’t that like picking a surgeon based on the selection of magazines they have in the waiting room? Because, while the magazines might be a diverting perk for a moment or two, it would not be [insert wild gesticulation here] in ANY sense of the imagination [end wild gesticulation] a deciding factor in my decision-making process. “Honey? HONEYCOMEHERERIGHTNOW! He has ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY! Ohmigodohmigodohmigod! He even has the bonus American Idol issue! He’s the one! Uh-huh! I will permit NO OTHER to saw open my skull. [Lies down on floor.] I’ll just wait here until he’s ready to scrub in. [Pause.] Ummm… Honey? Can you get me an Orange Julius while I wait? I’m a little parched. Thanks, Hon.”

Which is finally — mercifully — bookended with:

• Ewwww. Strip club chicken.

Appalachian Scabshift
Power Description: Using the power of my mind, I can teleport three scabs on my body anywhere within the Appalachian mountain range. (Note: Any attempt to teleport more or less than three scabs will give me a debilitating full-body ice-cream headache. So please don’t ask me to try.)

Ranchemy
Power Description: I can transmute any condiment into Paul Newman’s Own Ranch Dressing. All I need to do is coat my body with the condiment, clap my hands, and presto! — Ranch dressing for everyone!

Smiley Projection
Power Description: I can transfer my consciousness into the Astral Plane! However, my soul manifests itself in the semblance of Guy Smiley. And I will smell of strong cheese for about three days afterwards. (This may actually constitute two superpowers.)

As the nurse took Sophia’s temperature, I stood in front of the bed and massaged Sophia’s right foot. I was surprised when Sophia, drunk from the powerful morphine, used her left foot to rub my groin up and down. It felt good, but a little inappropriate in the recovery room. Sophia insists this episode never occurred, but I have the nurse as an eyewitness, even though she was very polite about not mentioning the result.

- Neil, Citizen of the Month

Everyone, head on over and give Sophia some get well vibes.

Or Neil might just open up a can of Campbell’s Cream of Passive-Aggressive on yo ass.