Five Eleven

You've never seen the sun until you're a vampire; not really. And no I don't mean that whole bit about having your skin turned into a viscous material while it's still on your body. And you can forget all those movies because the movies are all made by some guy, probably age 35 who hasn't done anything original in three months and spent all of one afternoon researching vampires before he pounded out a script while saying screw it, vampires are subjective. I'll make them be whatever I want, dangit! The honest truth is... well, screw the truth. The truth is unimportant. What is important is the sun. Yes I'm sure you've noticed it once or twice, but then again you're not a vampire so... no you haven't you've just been going about your life for the past 1-87 years, probably making numerous stops at a certain fast food restaurant and adding bit by bit to that expancious gut of yours, all the while glancing up at tht light and thinking how it makes seeing your fancy little FREE video game that resets every five minutes hard to see. Give it up man, it's only tetris. You have better things to do with your life; like being a vampire... but that's a discussion for another time. Right now we're thinking about the sun. Close your eyes with me and imagine that you're five foot eleven. Unless of course you ARE five foot eleven. In that case you can step out of the room. Now assuming that you have any sort of imagination at all you should all be outside of the room. The two or three of you left are the ones who despite my saying "imagine that you're five foot eleven" are still thinking to themselves; "But I'm not five foot eleven. I'm six foot three" or "I'm three foot six" or "I don't know how tall I am"... Out in the hallway the larger portion of the group are standing around imagining that they are five foot eleven and thinking what a coincidence it is that so many people in one room could be the same height while straining to see over and under the people around them. Back in the room I'm calmly cooking pop tarts in a microwave oven and singing "Daisy daisy, give me your answer do" quietly to myself, musing that I narrowly missed that one seeing as I am precisely five foot eleven and a half and my imagining instruction was not detailed towards myself. Honestly I've got enough on my imagining plate as is. I've contrived this entire affair.
Meanwhile, back a the ranch, your parents are, of course dying of thirst, having drank up the pond in the back yard and exhausted the well. They would have taken the cattle's water as well but it's still frozen up from that cold spell yesterday. your parents are sitting underneath the kitchen table with the frozen veggies out of the freezer waiting for the excess ice to thaw when I stroll in, still whistling "daisy, daisy" and announce, "Mr. and Mrs. McNovachuckler, your son finally grew a whole negative three inches!" Hearing this they leap upon the table and do a victory war dance. You however, are not there to hear it. You're still standing out in the hallway being five foot eleven and thinking how there might be something phony going on here because you're resting your chin on the top of your girlfriend/boyfriend's head and both of you are standing straight and tall at five foot eleven.
Just then I blow in with a grin splitting my face and a platter stacking high with steaming pop tarts. That's when you realize you MUST be dreaming because you're not wearing any pants. I hand you a pop tart, making a passing comment about your hair style and whisk away into the five foot eleven crowd.
Meanwhile back at the ranch (oh how I love that saying) your parents are thrown into a sheer panick as a helicopter tries to knock their house down. They pelt the overbearing maching with egg whites and strips of uncooked bacon, but to no avain. The cattle come on the scene in search of more water and promptly fall assleep. This didn't help the copter driver who flew into a wild rage and then flew back out with napalm in one hand and you in the other. "Wait a minute," you scream. "Why was I in the wild rage? How did i get there?" I calmly explain it to you as I stirfry more poptarts. You put yourself there when you realized that the entire thing was a fraud and you weren't REALLY the same height as your boyfriend/girlfriend. By the way, do not read this IN the company of your said companion as it will cause conflict of imagination. You cannot BOTH be taller than the other, I explain, or else you would be infinitely taller, each growing a bit taller by the moment until you were too tall to fit in the hallway and the copter roters would chop your head off making it impossible for you to imagine this scenario. The wild rage came upon you when you realized the pop tart was really a bananna split and you got brain freeze because you took too large of a bite.
Anyway, the ranch is destroyed, the cattle are deceased and you're stuck in the pilot's iron fist, all the while screaming to the world that you were not in the wild rage so how did he get a hold of you when he flew in there? Your temper quickly turns to the dark side and YOU fly into a wild rage, sucking allong the pilot and his aircraft because his grip is just too strong. There you encounter a rabid meercat who tears the pilot limb from limb and then proceeds to treat you similarely.
"It's all a ploy," I explain. You see I know about your algebra test tomorrow and I've been commissioned by the school board to make you loose sleep tonight so you'll do poorly and fail the test, the course, and the semester, therefor having to retake it all and increasing their salary. You scream as you fall, the pilot's lifeless hand still clenched about you, and land in the pond with a great splash. "Wait a minute," you say. "I thought there wasn't any water on the ranch."
"You're right," I reply. "Very good. You can stop imagining now. You open your eyes and find yourself back in the room, sitting calmly in your seat. For a single moment you think everything is going to be alright. I'm standing at the front of the room, perfectly quiet with no sign of food of any kind anywhere near me, and your boyfriend/girlfriend who is once again significantly shorter than you is sitting peacefully beside you and licking your toe. For a moment this seems perfectly natural to you. That's when you realize that the copter pilot's fist is still wrapped tightly around you. You scream again and try to get up. The sunlight vanishes and you sit bolt upright in your bed, rising out of a pool of sweat and throwing your tangled blankets off your midsection. It's 5:11 in the morning and the sun is just beginning to peak over the hill where the cattle like to graze. You role over onto the dry side of the bed and go back to sleep. That, my friend is the thing about vampires. They never sleep so how could you be one...

"Okay I'll take idiots and the workplace for $200 please."

"This clasification of human begin begins a blog, makes a lot of promises, has a lot of good ideas, but never fullfills them and updates said blog once about every six months."

*Smashes buzzer*

"Yes, Mr. Webb"

"What is an unpublished writer with a day job."

"That is correct."