He was the most important person of the elite

He was the most important person of the elite Mission Impossible team. He was the plug-in guy.
Not that the screaming baby in his arms cared about it. For the last fifteen minutes she had been crying at the top of her lungs. He had never felt so useless in his life, not even
that one time at band camp, when he stuck a flute in that other screaming baby's mouth. All that happened then was a poor rendition of Aqualung by Jethro Tull. Stupid baby. How
do you expect to succeed in life if you are only 3 weeks old and you are already crying about everything. You cry when you are hungry. You cry when you have soiled yourself. Always
Crying, tears dripping down your cheeks, spotting dripping down your chin, wailing at the top of your lungs every time you need to draw attention to your lungs. More than once you
flooded the neighbours' lawn with a pool of tears. The ducks from over the road quickly adapted to the unexpected saline pond. No-one seemed to be paying attention to your distress
because let's face it, happy ducks always win attention away from a miserable coot like you. Why don't you try quacking a little, and flapping around? There. Isn't that better?
"Your methods are unorthodox," I told my shrink, "But they certainly work." I quacked, waddled, flapped my arms; joyful and free of anxiety. "Great," she said. "That'll be $1,500."
I thought, " WHOA!" and asked why she charged so much. The sign on the door said $15.00. There was an awkward silence and then she laughed like Shark Lady. Cackling, nauseating.
She reminded me of my second ex-wife. I took a step closer. Could it...be? "You didn't recognize me right away, didja?" she spat. She looked hideous. But GAWD! I still loved her!!!

Started: 2015-08-14 09:23:13
Finished: 2016-11-14 00:01:20

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