A Day In The Life Of Godzilla

7:05 AM. Waking up on floor of Pacific Ocean. Don't really understand reasons why giant lizard monsters can sleep underwater. Should consult with scientists about this. Assuming I'm not stomping on scientists, of course.

7:30 AM. Feeling peckish. Feeding off schools of fish just don't do much for my appetite. Time to go on land and see what's at the buffet today.

8:10 AM. Ran into Mothra while coming ashore. Fought epic battle. Beat stupid giant bug with fire breath. Why does Mothra hate me so much?

8:55 AM. Arrived in Osaka. Time to eat some morning commuters.

9:10 AM. Japanese government on full Godzilla Alert drill. Spending my time eating commuters. Yum yum yum. Would taste even better with barbecue sauce, but sometimes a hungry monster can't pick and choose.

9:25 AM. Engage in battle with Japanese military fighters. Spending time swatting them out of sky. Don't they know who they're messing with?

9:55 AM. Spot Mechagodzilla lumbering on horizon. Not that idiot. How many times do I have to destroy that thing?

10:15 AM. Engaged in brutal battle with Mechagodzilla. Osaka lies in waste at our feet as we trample through. People fleeing. Military retreating. Will destroy Mechagodzilla this time. He has it coming.

10:20 AM. Victory is mine! Mechagodzilla lies in pieces at my feet. Roaring in triumph. Let's see you come back from that, Rusty!

11:55 AM. Closing in on Tokyo. Lunch time.

12:25 PM. Making my way through Tokyo, laying waste, eating at the smorgasbord that is the city. Lots of fleeing food sources. Roaring loudly. Just another Tuesday for Big G.

12:55 PM. Engaging in battle with Rodan, who decided to show up for some reason. Must teach him some manners. Stupid flying dinosaur. Who does he think he is?

1:35 PM. Victory is mine! Have flung Rodan far out to sea. Will celebrate by continuing to trash Tokyo.

3:10 PM. Conference call with attornies. They express dismay that I continue on regular rampages, reminding me that I would be much more sympathetic if I wasn't regularly destroying cities. Or at least destroying cities that have it coming.

3:15 PM. Attornies brief me on progress of lawsuit against Devlin and Emmerich. Still annoyed that those two made a CGI version of me that didn't look anything like me. And that Godzilla is pregnant bit is a disgrace. I was laughed at by that for years by the other monsters. Attornies tell me it will take more time to sort out. Thinking of eating attornies.

3:25 PM. Finishing conference call with attornies. Japanese military returns. Along with the grandson of that meddling professor who managed to take me out the first time. I mean, come on, whoever heard of an oxygen destroyer?  Note to self: wipe out that family line. Every last one of them. They keep interfering in my rampages.

5:10 PM. Have been fighting with Japanese military for awhile. Tanks, fighters, and cannons. Apparently they just don't take a hint. I've had enough of this. Time to set them on fire.

6:55 PM. Have reached Nagano. Time to rampage and destroy some more. Feeling hungry.

7:20 PM. Rats. That big ape King Kong just showed up. How many times today am I going to be fighting someone?

7:25 PM. Involved in brutal battle against Kong. He beats his chest and roars. I roar louder. I also remind him that his little human girlfriend didn't want him. That pisses him off. Just as I expected.

7:55 PM. Victory is mine! I have blasted King Kong with fire and sent him running for the hills. Roaring in triumph! Stupid ape!

10:55 PM. Home again, deep in depths of ocean. Get call from attornies. They express concern that sooner or later the UN is going to come after me. Attornies advise me to go trash Syria as goodwill gesture, but only the government there. Would look good for public relations. When did I get stuck with attornies and have to worry about public relations?

A Day In The Life Of A Grim Reaper

7:15 AM. Time to wake up. Starting the day. Work to get to. Wake up the wife. We can't be late to the office. Death waits for no one, after all.

8:10 AM. Kiss Clara goodbye for the day when we turn up at Home Office. She heads off to the legal department while I head downstairs. Yes, grim reapers need lawyers. Clara's a good one.

8:20 AM. Clock in for the day. Say hello to Charlie, Alex, Kate, and Jill. They're checking their Reaper schedules for the day. Must pick up mine. Coffee first.

8:30 AM. Oh, rats. I've got to see one of those celebrities off to the great beyond? That never goes well. They keep whining and complaining that this isn't the way they intended to go out. Yes, well, if you didn't drown in your own vomit from drinking too much, you might not have kicked the bucket forty years too early, Dimwit. Oh, well. At least that's not scheduled until this afternoon.

9:15 AM. Took two hundred forty souls after a commuter train crashed into a Star Trek convention. Much confusion among the souls of commuters and Trekkie fans alike. No, I'm not a Vulcan. You'd think the hooded cloak and skeleton body would give it away. I'm the Grim Reaper, and you're dead. No, you may not update your Facebook page. What part of being dead do you not seem to understand yet?

10:45 AM. Have dispatched all of the commuters and Trekkies to their respective destinations. Trekkies go on and on about something called the Nexus. No, that's not what the afterlife is like. Some of you cross over to pleasant places. Others... not so pleasant. Let's just say you'll have to get used to Bob Dylan and an accordion player performing songs like I'm A Little Teapot for the rest of time.

11:05 AM. Time until next appointment. Stroll down street, whistling Jailhouse Rock. Reminds me of time I brought Elvis over to the other side. Not a pretty sight. What a rotten way to die. Don't expect much better from celebrity demise this afternoon.

11:10 AM. As expected on time, forty five year old accountant Bob Billings collapses of massive heart attack while trying to figure out where all of the money he stole from his clients went. Bob looks surprised to see me. Bob, you're not going to like where you're headed to. Get used to the sounds of a mumbling folk singer and an accordion.

11:55 AM. Stop in at a deli for lunch. Always do like a nice roast beef and honey mustard sandwich. Still get stared at by other customers. Must be the scythe.

12:20 PM. Off to Sahara to make my next pick up. Hope there's no sandstorm.

12:30 PM. Rats. Sandstorm. Found my next pickup. Desert nomad stranded too far from anywhere. Just kicked the bucket. Sooner I can get him off, the better. I hate getting sand in my robe! It gets everywhere!

1:10 PM. Check in at Home Office. Just enough time for a thorough cleaning after getting sand everywhere. The team in Bone Cleaning always do a good job. Hand over my robe for a fast dry clean, and head over to Bone Cleaning to get scrubbed.

1:40 PM. All clean. Chat with Andy at Dry Cleaning while waiting for the robe. We trade stories about the days of the Black Death. Andy just hasn't been the same since getting his right leg broken during the Battle of Waterloo, so he's taken a desk job. Must be kind of tedious at times, but at least he doesn't have to worry about getting sand in his eye sockets.

2:55 PM. Off to Hollywood. Not looking forward to the celebu-death.

4:10 PM. Washed up rock singer finally passes on after choking on own vomit. Takes one look at me as he exits his body, and says, "I'm buggered, aren't I?" I nod. He stares down at his body, surrounded by needles, weed, bottles of scotch and rum, and dwarf porn, and asks how this will look on Entertainment Tonight. From there, it deteriorates into a fit of pleading, bargaining, denial, and tears. And begging for just one more gulp from the bottle of rum. Note to self: get Charlie or Jill to take on the next celebu-death. These things never go well....

6:10 PM. Off the clock. Time to head for home. Look in on Clara. She's just about set to go. We chat about our day. She spent hers in court arguing with deceased lawyer. Seems he wants to file an appeal to go back to Earth and straighten out his idiot family, who spend all their time being famous for being famous on reality shows. Much too late for that. Besides, he's condemned to Hell. Much harder to get out of there. Clara told him he might as well just get used to hearing Bob Dylan mumble his way through Itsy Bitsy Spider for the next million years.

7:10 PM. Home at last. Time to get dinner ready. My turn to cook tonight. Feel like pancakes and strawberries. Always did like that. And it's been long enough since I watched the final moments of Mr. Electric Guitar God, so my appetite's come back.

7:35 PM. Finished eating strawberry pancakes. Chatting about where to go on vacation this summer. Maybe Venice? Somewhere that doesn't get sandstorms. Will settle down to watch movie with Clara. Oh, crap. She wants to watch Meet Joe Black. Sweetie, come on. I'm much more handsome than Brad Pitt, and I hate the ending of that film.

11:20 PM. Finished watching the movie. Time for bed. Long day tomorrow. Hopefully won't have to see that movie for awhile. Don't understand what women see in that Pitt guy anyway.

11:55 PM. Feeling grains of sand bouncing around in my femur while lying in bed. Damn! Thought I got rid of all of it! How am I going to sleep now?

Attack Of The Rampaging Crazy Old Man

"Okay, look, here's what we're going to do. If I'm not awake to concede defeat, I can stay in the race for the nomination to become President of these here United States of Ron Paul... er, of America. So whatever you all do, don't wake me up from my nap until September. By then, this Romney guy will have self imploded, right? Right?" ~ Ron Paul, April 30th, 2012

Poor Crazy Old Man. It's so hard for him to get any attention at all from the media. He'd have to kill the Pope. In Times Square. During rush hour. With an Acme cannon. As of this moment, he's still technically in the race, but no one's paying any more attention to him, what with Governor Mittens having had finally gotten enough delegates for the Republican convention later in the summer. Took him long enough. These things happen when your own party wishes they could nominate someone else. Someone who's much less awkward.

And so the long election campaign continues. Governor Mittens and the President continue to take shots at each other. Gaffes are made. Eyes roll at the latest blunder. And every step of the way, the editorial cartoonists skewer the whole process. That might be the only thing that makes the ordeal bearable.

Governor Mittens (Gloves to his friends) is spending his time trying to convince people that he's likeable, that he's not all that different from everyone else. Surely most folks like to drink Bollinger Grand Annee champagne while having the staff boil lobsters that were specially flown in from Maine that morning, right? Just like Mittens? Or is he just out of touch? I'm inclined to think the latter. Just a gut feeling.

Governor Mittens has been in a spot of trouble over bullying incidents from his school days, claiming he can't remember anything beyond pranks, hijinks, and shenanigans. Sure, Mittens. And if you expect us to believe that, I've got ocean front property in Saskatchewan....

Worse, Governor Mittens has been spending too much time paying homage to the Walking Ego With The Bad Hairpiece, the Loudmouth Arrogant Essence of Rude Behavior... yes, Donald "Pay Attention To Me!!!!!" Trump. Also known to science as the unique species Homo Sapiens Trumpus Blowhardus Hairpieceius Atrocious.

It's going to be a long, long summer. The President has, well, an idiot to put down in November. The Republicans are wondering what they were thinking. And a Crazy Old Man is snoozing away.

Of course, President Obama can still get himself distracted from time to time...

I think elephants should sue the Republicans, who are sullying their good reputation.

Well, that's all for now. I'll be back soon enough with another of these. Governor Mittens must be thinking of Vice Presidential candidates by now. Maybe he can choose someone based on loyalty and mutual respect. Like Pope Ricky. 

Or Magneto.