First and foremost, allow me to introduce myself. My name is <yet to be named> Kirsch and this is my first post on The MKX®. I’ve had a crazy week so I thought I’d share some of it.
So there I am, chilling and floating in warm amniotic fluid, minding my own business. I’ve been doing the same thing for what feels like forever, but I’m not sure… my memories of anything over 9 months ago are kind of hazy. In any case, I’m chilling in the dark enjoying some half-digested frozen yogurt through my umbilical cord when suddenly I start getting pushed out. Weird stuff… at first it was only now and then but later it got more frequent, like every five minutes apart or so. Then it hit me.
I’m being evicted.
My guess is that the guy in charge of my personal finances forgot to pay the rent or something. Oh, I’ll make him pay big time, don’t worry. Perhaps a college fund. Maybe I’ll wreck his car too someday just to spite him.
In any case, they are pushing me out for what seemed like two days, and it’s working. Eventually I see the light at the end of the tunnel and being the brave adventurer that I am, I decide to slide out.
It wasn’t easy. I don’t know who designs this stuff but believe me, my head was bigger than the exit hole and not barely. I bet I left some damage behind me.
What happened afterwards was a blur. Dude with gloves catches me, skinny white dude cuts my umbilical cord with scissors (more on him later), some woman grabs me, they’re cleaning me and measuring me and checking me out like I’m some kind of weird specimen. Finally they put me down on top of a tired looking brown woman.
Immediately it hit me: this is the person I need to enslave. I stared long and hard directly at her eyes, in order to subject her to my will. It worked, she will forever remain under my control.
In a crazy stroke of luck, given that my tummy got disconnected from my other food source, this woman has the ability to produce milk from her chest. This handy little trick has turned out to be very useful ever since.
The next couple of days were kind of odd. Different people started to show up. Some worked at the place we were at, referred to as “The Hospital”. They were nice and didn’t seem to be as scared of touching me as the others. Then there was the food source person I refer to as “Ima” and the tall skinny guy with the curly hair cord cutter SOB I refer to as “Papi”.
The rest of them are easy to catalog. If they are brown, then they are related to Ima. If they are white then they are related to Papi. Except for the loud bald guy, he’s Papi-colored but is actually related to Ima. Something must’ve gotten horribly mixed up there, I suppose. They are all really nice in spite of talking to me in funny voices, but my favorite one is the one I call “Bobe Raquel”. She’s so warm and cushiony and smells good!
Just as I was getting used to the harsh military environment of The Hospital, they decide to take me somewhere else: Bungee jumping! Or at least I thought so, since I was strapped to a ridiculous harness. Disappointingly, I was then taken to a freaking four cylinder Elantra! Talk about a tease! The only thing I can conclude is that Papi is a huge idiot at the wheel. He better stay off that iPhone of his.
Eventually we arrived to what I refer to as “My Palace”. I was taken to my main chambers. They are all light blue filled with white furniture. Who decorated this dump? Do they expect me to live inside a Martha Stewart catalog?! First thing I do when I get a chance is a layer of paint, hang some posters of girls in bikinis, and maybe install a hot tub.
Living in My Palace is not bad. I arranged for one of my servants to hold me most of the time. The one known as “Savta” takes the night shift, Ima feeds me whenever I feel like it, and Papi carries me too but he’s a scam: no matter how hard I suck his puny flat chest, NOTHING comes out. Dry as a bone. I’ll have to look into how to repair that, maybe on Yelp?
For the most part, this is what I’ve been up to all week: Being carried, being fed, taking dumps.
So let’s talk about poop.
I eat a lot, I mean how could one reject the banquets I’m being offered? And whatever comes in, must come out. Simple physics. The funny thing is, whenever I relieve myself, the person that looks the most relieved is Ima. Haha seriously, she’s obsessed with my feces or something. I swear she seems to be keeping track of color, consistency, date and time ON A FREAKING APP. What a weird fetish.
Something interesting happened last Saturday. Papi and uncle Moi were staring at a big bright rectangle for two hours. He seemed really into it. On the rectangle there were moving pictures of little guys running after a sphere in some sort of arcane ritual. In the background, annoying yells in Spanish.
I think I can get into this arcane ritual, seems like fun. Also, I think the big bright rectangle and I are going to be good friends.
Finally, you may have noticed I don’t have a proper first name. People have been calling me all sorts of things but nothing consistent. The ones who speak Hebrew often call me “matok sheli” which I find a little disrespectful. The Spanish speaking ones say “mi Rey”, much better – they should know their place.
But I heard a rumor: apparently I’m getting an official name tomorrow at this event called a “Bris”. I’m not sure what that is exactly, but I bet it’s fun for me! I mean… it’s gotta be, right? Right?