I was re-examining my RB situation (again)

I was re-examining my RB situation (again) for the fantasy football playoffs just as the boss walked in. I Ctrl-Tab'ed to an accounting spreadsheet but he said "Hey Bob, you workin

on that chart of keyboard shortcuts for me?" I switched to my smartphone to check Frank Gore's fantasy numbers as I said, "Yessir, I'll Ctrl-P it this afternoon." I would forget

much of that day because a micro-space ship drilled into my mind after landing in my ear. The tiny aliens mined deep into my limbic system and attached these strange looking

silvery bugs. They ate my bad memories & crapped out good memories. The longer I was infested, the happier I became. Once I was too blissful to mind, a million aliens lifted me up

this place. I'd been there before when I was but a lad. I awoke on their ship to the tantalizing scent of Belgian waffles & fresh coffee. The ship was The Bluebird Diner, my heaven

is a conference room in the middle of a desert where the real rulers of the world convene to chalk out their plans for us mortals. The diner was visible from where they sat. They

considered getting involved in politics but instead decided to bury their heads in the desert sand. Some people might argue the conference room wasn't in the middle of the desert b

ut I thought it was. There was something peculiarly sandy about the place, and a few camels were loitering in reception. One asked my name, and wrote it on a small badge, which he

then proceeded to chew up and spit out. I wondered upon the futility of this exercise and awkwardly departed from the queue. The camels had taken over, I realized. On hump-day.