This can mean only one thing:
I want to do something else.
I have no idea what that might be.
If I were to know myself (which has admittedly been an uphill battle), I'd guess I'd prefer to nap.
Who could say?
Anyway, I've resolved to write something today.
So, I guess we're looking at it.
...
If the fattest twins in the world can keep their balance on a motorcycle, then surely I can too.
I figured that I'd be able to pull it off because it's not man-sized and neither am I.
No dice, though.
I just sort of hit the throttle and immediately fell over.
I think I scraped a knee.
I have a scar on my chin and I have no idea where it came from or when I got it.
I remember no chin injuries.
I asked my mother about its origin, and she didn't have an answer for me either.
That means that I will never know where this scar came from.
Isn't that a little bizarre, when you think about it?
No, it's not.
However, I'll tell you what is:
You know that guy who started the company that's willing to fly anyone to space?
As long as that anyone is the sort of anyone who has millions upon millions of dollars?
That guy is looking to develop a new transit system.
You know what he wants to design? I love this.
Futurama Tubes.
That's true.
Pneumatic tubes that zip you around without needing to bother with engines, oil, or crash test dummies.
All the system would really need would be...y'know...air vents.
Presumably, this people-propelled ejection system wouldn't harbor traffic jams - at first.
However, they'd ultimately end up in Toronto, and as soon as that happens, everyone will have to sit in their tubes for an hour in the morning and an hour in the evening.
Having to listen to Twister Sister twice in one day while waiting to get home is bad enough.
Suffocating along with three dozen other people is far worse.
Especially if that happens while listening to Twister Sister.
It's time.
It's time for pneumatic tubes.
Just don't tell my boss that I said that.
Tubes, of course, would put us honest-working car salesmen out of business.
