Why is THE MAN pooping on me?

There are times in my life when, clearly, I have wronged some entity larger than myself. A few months back we went through a terrible time of family sickness after we stopped watching Grey’s Anatomy. Coincidence? I think not.

Recently, I’ve been trying to think back and remember if I sassed any older white men because I seemed to have crossed THE MAN. In the past few weeks I’ve been called to jury duty, been notified that my P-card (credit card for work) is going to be audited, and gotten one of those effing camera tickets – you know, where three weeks later you find out that you were caught in a speed trap. We also got our state taxes sent back to us with a “try again” note attached AND I lost a library book. If that weren’t enough, they lowered the limit on our American Express card, and that’s just nothing but THE MAN trying to point out your inadequacies. I mean, what is that if not THE MAN saying, “Hey, loser. You’re a real loser and we don’t want to ‘loser’ our money [THE MAN is a sucker for puns] so we’re lowering your limit. I know you weren’t AT your limit, so you probably wouldn’t have noticed so I decided to send you this letter which is a copy of the email I sent you earlier. Dude, I just felt like pooping on someone and this seemed easiest.”

So, old white dude, I get the point. Let’s call a truce. Next time I’m in the store with my kids, I’ll duct tape them, one each, to my legs so as to avoid any inadvertent touching of your suit pants. But for now, if you would refrain from messing with my mortgage, I’d appreciate it.