one wish

With my birthday less than a month away, you're probably racking your brain trying to figure out what to get me. After all, I already have a lovely wife-to-be, a roof over my head, and some shirts. What else do I need?

How about laser eye beams to disintegrate my enemies? It's just a thought.

You see, I've been asking for laser eye beams since I was six. Although my mother assured me that she'd "work on it" for my seventh birthday, I did not receive them. It was because of her negligence that I was unable to vaporize Chris Doyle when he took off with one of my Gobots during a botched toy exchange a few months later. On my eighth birthday, I was denied laser eye beams, again. Shortly thereafter, I participated in a four-legged race at my elementary school. Had I been capable of shooting white hot fire from my cornias, I could have burned a trench in the soccer field, over which my opponents would have stumbled, and ensured myself a first place finish. Instead, I came in second place, and Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait, precipitating the Persian Gulf War.

I am now on the verge of turning thirty-one years old. My dearth of laser eye beams has seriously hampered my attempts at incinerating all who oppose me. I do not possess the power to turn flesh into ash, ergo, I do not yet rule the Earth from a mountain of skulls, as is my right and priveledge. And I'm not getting any younger.

So, on June fifteenth, if someone were to, I don't know, buy me laser eye beams or something, I may decide to spare his life when I bring the Age of Man to its knees.