robotdanger

Albert is a Machine No Duh

It’s been one of those weeks, you guys.  Just one of those blurry, groggy, “not good for employment, responsibilities or the welfare of perfectly innocent houseplants” kind of weeks.  I just cannot get my act together!  Surely, you all understand.  We’ve all been there.  Sometimes brains and bodies just have to shut it down and RECOVER.  For example, my depth perception and motor function have been so distorted that door frames might as well be keyholes.  As of Wednesday, I think I was still typing entire emails using nothing but suggested words from spell check.  

I HAVE BEEN A MESS. 

I mean, suuuure.  I might have overdone it a little bit with the sun and fun over the long weekend, but COME ON.  We’re all adults here!  I’m quite completely ashamed of my inability to rebound and rejoin the world of the mentally and physically competent. 

Basically, my point is that I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about this whole Albert Pujols “what broken bone I have no clue what you’re talking about or where you might have gotten that idea it’s clearly all a figment of your overactive and possibly hallucinogenic imagination please seriously stop doing drugs I’M FINE FOR REALZ” scenario and I’ve come to at least two conclusions. 

First of all, I am a HUUUUUGE pansy.  I develop a compound hangover from drinking beers in the sun for a couple of days and can barely manage to climb out of bed without the assistance of a large crane, a cattle prod and one of the Transformers. 

Meanwhile, THIS GUY! 

I really mean no disrespect to his obvious and well documented awesomeness, but does he have to be such a goddamn showoff?  The rest of us are just trying to GET THROUGH IT ALL.  I had a full ten minute phone conversation with a client yesterday in which I didn’t drool into the receiver or start reciting the alphabet and that is considered REAL PROGRESS!  Yet, he gets legitimate, and at certain points, career threatening injuries that he appears to just magically recover from overnight. I am MYSTIFIED.

My second realization is that this is no accident.  I don’t mean to frighten you, my friends, but I think it’s pretty clear that Mr. Pujols is leading the robot uprising.  Any questions we might have had about his physical superiority have been totally laid to waste and it’s getting to the point where I can’t believe anyone is all that surprised.  This man is a MONSTER and he cannot be stopped.  He’s going to outlive us, our children, our grandchildren and our flying hybrid hoverboard vacuum cleaner smoothie makers.  He’s leading a revolution in which only the strong will survive.  Me personally?  I just hope there’s running water at whatever concentration camp I end up in.  Because clearly he will have no use for an idiot who can’t even unlock a car door without dropping the keys down a storm drain.  My time has come and I am at peace with this.  Besides, I already have a smoothie maker.

In other news, I’m traveling down to St. Louis this very afternoon to watch the rest of this four game series against the Diamondbacks.  And unless he feels it necessary to capture me and my family over the weekend, I hope Albert hits 11 home runs and eats at least three relief pitchers.  What can I say? I have early onset Stockholm syndrome.

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