The rich, the unprotected, & another big head story

The gravitational pull that is my giant head pulled in a new object the other day while playing softball. I was walking back to the dugout when someone chucked a bat in my general direction. I didn’t see it–but I heard screams to look out. Instinctively, I crouched down and covered my head with my arms. The bat narrowly missed me, falling in between my legs, ricocheted off the ground, and hit me square in the manhood. I wish I could boast about the benefits of wearing a cup…unfortunately, I’ve never been the athletic support type.

Now the skeptic would say this is proof that my head isn’t that large and it doesn’t have its own gravitational pull. Instead of hitting me in the cranium, the bat fell short. But a softball bat is a heavy object. I believe the gravitational field of my head pulled the bat closer to me–but wasn’t strong enough to fully pull that bat into my head. Kinda like the way comets circle around the sun. Gravity is strong enough to alter the orbit–but not enough to pull the object in.

And that’s what it’s come down to: I’m comparing my head to celestial objects. For The Girlfriend’s sake, I just hope big heads aren’t hereditary.

I know this falls under the ‘duh’ category but it still bothers me. At my job, the president’s secretary has to turn on the TV in his office very morning before he gets there. And in the afternoon–after he leaves–she has to turn it off. I know it’s a trivial little thing, but it really gets on my nerves. How much of an elitist do you have to be where turning on a television set is considered below you? It’s not hard. It’s not time consuming. You push one button labeled ‘power’–that’s it. We’re not talking about brewing coffee or making sure the office temperature is comfortable. This is one button that any four-year old can do.

But I shouldn’t be too surprised. Rich folks like to think they’re kings. They want to be waited on hand and foot. It’s just something about people with money. They get off on the fact people do all of those little things for them. To me, it’s disgusting–even a little bit degrading. It’s one thing to enlist help for difficult tasks; it’s another if you’re too lazy to push a button.