Is God real? Is a question I ask myself many

Is God real? Is a question I ask myself many times a day. But

Especially when Mr. Bean insist I do the edging with his nose trimmer.

Not many have the money for a horticulturist barber. It takes time to shave an entire rose garden with a straight-edge, but the results are spectacular. Mr. Bean had hired me for

sharpening the rose razors and I was great at it. At first. But lately I'd grown weary of all the rose razor whetting and filing. The honing. The grinding. It was

terrible being a sweat shop worker making the Mach 5 blades. I heard they're coming out with 6 blads next year, Jesus. They just keep piling the work on the little man for

never wearing heels? Really? This is the plight of the razor assembling worker in this climate? Have we, at long last, left no sense of decency? Short people got no reason to

form basketball teams of only five. Dwarves get to count as half a player. They stand on each other's shoulders and outsmart the UCONN Huskies. I always bet on Washington Generals.

Maybe that's why I keep losing. Ohhh, ZING! Take that, you jerks!

I shot my gun like Rambo. I hid in the corners, ZAP! The kids didn't know what hit them, they scattered like confetti from a ticker tape parade. I owned this LaserTag place.