Bathroom Monologue: In Defense of MacGuffins

He couldn't afford to hit the snooze bar a second time. He'd already run out of time for a shower. Lingering any longer, he'd be late for MacGuffin.

He hit the remote and the television buzzed to life. He hoped news would MacGuffin. CNN was covering Occupy Wall Street again, the youth of America complaining the 1% had tanked their moms' retirement MacGuffins. Their rage helped him, laterally.

He crept to the kitchen for a cold glass of MacGuffin. He paused by the hall mirror to check out his bare abs. He sucked them in. Not too bad. A couple more weeks at the gym and he'd have a shot asking out MacGuffin.

There was something about waking up too tired. It altered his perception of things. He couldn't help looking at his suits differently. His toothbrush, too. The half-full glass of water was part of a set he'd spent two weeks MacGuffining around for. Or. Shopping around for. Yes, he'd shopped for a nice set of MacGuffins.

"Glasses. A nice set of glasses," he corrected, zipping up his MacGuffin. How many work hours had it taken to MacGuffin this thing?

His breath caught. He finished drinking the MacGuffin, hoping it would MacGuffin his MacGuffins. His confusion was only interrupted by the alarm clock going off again. He'd forgotten to switch it off. The shock reminded that he couldn't be late for work. How long had he hunted for that job?