Journal of a Shipwrecked man, Part Three

Work is boring. Oh gosh, its boring. SO BORING. I am in fear of
being bored to death.... I hope death is not as boring as work,
because where do you go from there? It's not like you can say "I'm
bored to life", because life is so boring sometimes you are in
danger of being bored to death. I guess this is how Buddhism got
started. I hope they're wrong, because Nirvana strikes me as being
particularly boring. I don't know about you, but I'm hoping in the
afterlife you get to drive tanks over chicken-coops at 60 miles/hour
while being pursued by Hillbillies waving shotguns and shaking their
fists at you. Damn Hillbillies! Did I mention that the roads are
made of pancakes?Also there are robots running amok.

Say it ain't so, 1-A !!!!

Where was I? Oh yes, loneliness. Until they invent low-cost robots
who tell you interesting stories about running amok or how they are
impervious to things, I guess I shall remain lonely. Either that or
I'll break the monotony by calling 411 and telling them there's an
emergency. Here's how you do it, exactly:

Me: There's an emergency!
411: Sir, this is information.
Me: Yes, it is! I'm being over-run! You need this information!
411: No, I mean this is telephone information- you want '911'.
Me: 911? What, that lousy Michael Moore movie??!?!?
411: I mean 911 emergency!!!!
Me: Hold on (putting phone down, walking away, then back). Never
mind, they've gone.
411: Who is gone?
Me: Hah! I KNEW you were more interested in emergencies than
in giving out "Horace H. Whatsisname's" number to some boring guy.
411: *click*

Mandrake