Bathroom Monologue: Investing in Tomorrows

"Benjamin Franklin is quoted saying that a single today is worth two tomorrows. Now the board of directors defrauded me of thirty-one years of pension time. That amounts to 11,242 todays that I put into a retirement. Where did it go? They say the stock tanked, yet they have golden parachutes.

"I lost over eleven thousand todays. How many did you lose? How fair would it seem if the board spent twenty-two thousand tomorrows in a dungeon somewhere? Fair trade by the reckoning of a founding father.

"I have a very nice basement. By that I mean that it has a black mold infestation and some kind of mammal keeps breaking in through unknown holes. I think they’re raccoons, but they bite more than raccoons are known to.

"Now, I’m a little old to go around kidnapping. I'm only proposing this to our... board? Our Board of Owed Parties. Yes, I like that, don't you?

"So, I’d lease my basement to the Board, if there was interest. How many tomorrows do you think these people owe you?"

Bathroom Monologue: Mr. Mines

You don’t know I am, so let me introduce myself: I am the woman who hammered that shrapnel into your ankles and knees while you were under.

You’ll be reassured to know every piece came from one of your landmines. None were the one that took my son’s legs, though I tried to find some. It would have been even more appropriate. As it is, all the charred steel now shredding your muscles and tendons is stuff you bought and put out there.

The handcuffs are for your own safety. If you pulled those shards out, you might bleed to death or get an infection. Mothers are very worried about infections. Did you know one summer when he 11, while playing soccer, he got such a bad gash that he needed injections in his calf every three days for four weeks? Of course you didn’t think about that, just as I don’t care what you were before you became a warlord or whatever you think you are.

We’re ten miles from your nearest compound. That’s a lot of walking to do with your joints full of metal. It might even be impossible, but maybe you’ll get lucky and waddle your way into screaming range for one of your lackeys.

I’m going home now. My son’s funeral is tomorrow, because he didn’t make it back to base, what you left of him. He only made it ten miles. Ten miles with no legs. Can you imagine?

Well, you will.