Brian Kelly woke up and walked right past the toothbrush, eyeing it. Daring it to hop from the porcelain cradle and scrape the bacteria off his sparkling white teeth. It wouldn't, because it and the rest of the world were cowards.
Brian Kelly made some eggs. He uses butter in the pan. Like, a whole stick, because butter is delicious, and because eggs are alive, love to swim, and prefer the sweet buoyancy of 100% real butter.
Brian Kelly then set off a whole pack of firecrackers in his living room, and DVR'd everything on eight channels.
"Are you sure you want to proceed without checking available space?"
Brian Kelly hit confirm, and then did a jumping split kick without bothering to warm up or stretch. Recording conflicts could kiss his torn hamstring.
Brian Kelly texted the whole way into work. He didn't even look up once, and may have missed a few traffic lights, but this was a train, and the world his tracks. Clear way, or get tossed like a cow getting plowed by the Western Continental steaming across the plains.
He got a second breakfast at McDonald's, and put the lidless coffee in his lap and sped toward the speed bumps. The burn reminded him he was alive. The stains matched his hair. The universe's plans are never faulty, he thought. He shot the middle finger at an Indiana State Trooper as hard as he could turning onto the highway. He smiled.
A reminder to pay his mortgage popped up on his iPhone.
PAY THIS, LEECHES.
An IPhone clattered to the ground on a lonesome stretch of Indiana highway, spitting glass in all directions as it shattered. He smiled, and sped toward campus with boiling coffee splattering everywhere. The CHECK ENGINE light came on. He stopped the car.
He poured the rest of his coffee on the engine.
Consider yourself checked, bitch.
He stopped and stared directly at the sun for two minutes before walking into the office, because your mother doesn't know anything about what eyes are capable of enduring.
He stepped into his office and sat down to his computer. No, he did not want to back up any purchases made on his account. No, he was not going to stop smoking in his office. With two cigarettes in his mouth, he fumed away as he made lurid searches on his company computer. He refused your Linkedin request. ALL OF THEM.
He put on a DVD of Burn Notice and sat with horrendous posture.
His secretary battered at the door.
"Coach, you know how bad smoking is for you, right? Right, coach?"
Kelly exhaled, and remembered last night.
"Is it, Sandy? Who really knows what's dangerous around here?" he yelled. He held a Nerf gun to his head, spinning barrels that weren't there. Who really wants to find out what dangerous really is this fall?