The Wisest Wizard

The wizard woke up early on Wednesday morning.  He put on a freshly pressed wizard robe and his tallest and most intimidating wizard hat.  As he walked out the door of his wizard's tower, he grabbed a long, gnarled staff.  The staff was topped by a weird ram's skull.  He and the skull had lived together for the past 500 years.  The horns twisted and turned around themselves, the powerfully enchanted skull vibrating with an unpleasant aura.

The wizard ran out to his car, parked on a nearby side street.  Just as he arrived at his car, a traffic enforcement agent was applying a car immobilizer "boot" to the wizard's car.  He couldn't believe it.  All those unpaid parking tickets caught up to him.  He was going to miss his job interview.  His hopes of moving to a much more expensive and remote wizard's tower with nicer IKEA furniture were immediately dashed.

The wizard tapped his magical staff on the ground three times.  Immediately, the weird ram's skull sprung to life, twisting and undulating from dark magic.  The ram's skull began to speak in a shrill tone, "Now we'll never be able to afford a new flatscreen TV!  Do something, you twit!"

The wizard, not one to take any shit from the ram's skull, began to think.  With the speed of a man 1% of his age, he thrust his hand into his wizard robe and took out a meerschaum pipe.  The pipe was implausibly white, looking pristine for its considerable age.  It was painstakingly carved into the shape of a woman's distressed face, complete with wide screaming mouth.  The wizard shouted in a booming voice that echoed down the narrow street, "STOP RIGHT THERE! RELEASE MY VEHICLE!"

The parking enforcement agent, mostly ignoring him, muttered, "Just doing my job."

Before the parking enforcement agent could even finish his sentence, the wizard stooped down and packed the pipe full of dog excrement.  He flicked up one finger, and casted a cantrip.  Flames licked out of his finger, igniting the pipe. The wizard inhaled the smoke of the dog shit deeply into his lungs.  Stifling a cough, he pursed his lips and exhaled with great gusto towards the parking enforcement agent.

The parking enforcement agent's smug expression quickly gave way to a terrified mask of horror. From the wizard's lips came out a billowing cloud, made up of scintillating colors and shimmering patterns.  The weird ram's skull began to contort and pulsate, emitting a deep bass note.  And then, the wizard, the skull and the parking enforcement agent began to dance.  They danced together for hours while the putrid clouds of burning dog shit and dazzling colors filled the air on the untraveled side street.

The wizard eventually lost interest and walked back to his wizard's tower with the staff, remarking introspectively, "I'm high all the time, I smoke that dog shit."

Another Day at the Office

There he sat, brooding over a sad salad that was inadequate in all ways. The phone on his desk rang. He glanced at the caller ID display. He looked back at the salad, and took another lousy forkful as the call rang over to voicemail. The half-assed salad of unwashed lettuce, undoubtedly heavily laden with fecal coliform bacteria, loomed ever more ominous on his desk. He was a federal agent. A government killer with a badge and an arsenal of high-powered weapons.

The law didn't apply to him. He was the law. He was also a guy who liked to jerk off with Liquid Wrench, but he mostly did that off the clock. Back to the salad. It was really a shitty salad. He dumped the salad in his government-issued trash bin. The oily, brownish lettuce leaves cascaded down the mound of bullshit paperwork that he had discarded earlier.

He began to walk out of the office, his hulking, brutish frame making the floor shake with each step. As he reached the door to the parking lot, he unholstered his service pistol. He gripped the Sig Sauer P227 tightly in his large, hairy hand. It was an excellent weapon. This one in particular had killed plenty of people, innocent and guilty alike. "Everybody is guilty of something," he thought.

The sunlight made the matte black finish of the Sig contrast sharply with his cheap suit. He waved the gun around in the air, grimacing in the empty parking lot. The government killer walked, gun still in hand, to get an omelette at the diner down the avenue.

He opened the to-go container and mushed a handful of omelette into his mouth. Bits of egg clung to his hairy hand.

The omelette was fucking terrible.