Happy anniversary to my parents today. I doubt they thought, on their wedding day, that their thirty-sixth anniversary would have such a dark side. This being the "dreaded day of the devil," highlighted by a marketing campaign for the The Omen Remake, I've come to a conclusion. I've decided that all the signs are there: I, friends, must be Damien, i.e. Satan's spawn.
My day has proved it because strange, coo-coo things happening to me could have no other explanation. Note the following:
Example One: Still trying to wrap up the paperwork on my car break-in, I head to the police station. I wait half-an-hour in the dingy place, only to be told that I could just telephone it in [contrary to what I was told yesterday]. I then proceed to the westside to talk to my insurance agent [who later convinces me that it's not worth filing a claim on the stolen items, so the trip was unnecessary]. As I get off the exit, I can feel my car handling differently. Knowing it's a flat tire, I somehow make it to a nearby auto-shop where they fix my tire. I thought it was most likely broken glass from the break-in that caused the flat. Not so. It was a busted valve stem. Just so happened to bust the day after the robbery. Crazy.
Example Two: While on the westside, I stopped by to see my parents to wish them a happy anniversary. Leaving my dad's shop, I get on River Road for a scenic drive back into the city. As I'm cruising down the road, alongside other cars, I see a critter in the road ahead. A groundhog has ventured out into the roadway. Because of the traffic around me, slamming on the brakes was not an option. I gripped the way and tried to maneuver over the creature. Three of my wheels avoided it. Yes, I killed Sonic.
So both inanimate and animate succumb to my powers. This must be pointing to the only likely response: I am the Antichrist. I wonder if I get a free t-shirt for that . . .
And the day's not over yet. Stay away from me. And don't look at me. It's all for me.