Once again, I’m on tour so and today I’m in Atlanta.  Please come see me?  Pretty please?

And while I’m gone I am completely phoning it in by reliving some of my favorite old posts.  In other words…reruns.  But good reruns.  So for today a little something from 5 years ago:

You know what I did last night when I couldn’t sleep?  I came up with 28 ideas for sequels to The Little Engine that Could and this morning I’m looking at them thinking, “How high was I?” and the answer is “Pretty high” because I don’t even remember writing some of these.  I should probably delete them all but I’m going to leave them as an example of why I shouldn’t really be allowed to speak to anyone, ever.

Alternate versions of The Little Engine that Could:

The little engine that should have.

The little engine that couldn’t care less.

The little engine that did and then found out it was overrated and then got disillusioned with life and stopped showering.

The little engine that did it with a prostitute and got syphilis.

The little engine that tried to do it but couldn’t and then later he found out that when he was born they weren’t sure if he was a train or a tractor so the doctor just made him into a train because that was easier but turns out?  Totally a tractor.

The little engine that needs to stop being such a douche canoe.

The little engine that tried but failed because sometimes life isn’t fair.

The little engine that died from overexertion and later his parents were all “WHY? Why didn’t he just wait for a bigger train?”  And no one had an answer.

The little engine that resented being called that because he thought it was racially insensitive and he started a big protest group then someone explained to that it was “engine” and not “Injun” and then he was all “Oh. I’ve wasted my life“.

The little engine that refused to unload his cargo because he was a hoarder.

The little engine that we all made fun of in school and later he got cancer and now we all feel bad.

The little engine that could do better.

The little engine that isn’t even applying herself.

The little engine that is just asking for a smack in the mouth if engines had mouths.

The little engine that refused to let men into his caboose because his father made him homophobic.

The little engine that could if he wanted to but he “just doesn’t feel like it right now”.

The little engine that accepted Jesus Christ as his personal savior but then found out that engines don’t have souls and he hoped there was at least an engine purgatory, but no.  There wasn’t.

The little engine that would have if he knew it was even an option.

The little engine that didn’t care for Asians.

The little engine that pretended he did it so much that he actually started to believe he actually had done it even though he never had.

The little engine that bullied you in third grade.

The little engine that’s way too concerned about Obama’s birth certificate.

The little engine that doesn’t have time to talk to you right now.

The little engine that can’t take a hint.

The little engine named Luka that lived on the second floor.

The little engine that was offended that he kept being referred to as “that” and would prefer “The little engine *who*would appreciate it if you’d use less hurtful words”

The little engine that could, but didn’t.  So maybe he couldn’t.  I mean, we don’t really know if he could unless he tried and succeeded.  Never mind.  The little engine who might’ve if he wasn’t such a damn baby.

The little mermaid who wanted to be an engine because she got sick of being a human but didn’t want to crawl home to her father after her divorce because he’d be all “I told you so“.

The little engine and the half-blood prince.

The little engine that ate my sandwich.  You. mother. fucker.

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me:  When I die I want you to put me in a Wonder Woman outfit and toss me out of a moving plane.  That way when I hit the ground people will assume that Wonder Woman’s invisible plane crashed.  And that Wonder Woman really let herself go.

Victor: But where would her plane be?

me:  Duh.  Her invisible plane was invisible.

Victor: Invisible.  Not non-existent.

me:  Yes, well then whenever people tripped over nothing they could blame it on debris from my plane crash.  And there’s my little slice of immortality.

Victor: I don’t even know where to begin.

me:  Begin by finding a Wonder Woman outfit in a size 14.

Victor:  I’m not going to do that.

me:  I can fit into a 12 if necessary.  I’ll be dead so you can shave off part of my butt if you need to.

Victor:  It’s not a size issue.  I’m just not going to do that.

me:  Fine.  Then I’m not going to bury you.  I’ll just leave you out in the lawn in a Batman costume.  You’ll just look like Batman had a heart attack while picking weeds out of the flowerbed.  Way to ruin Batman, asshole.

Victor:  I don’t even feel safe in this house anymore.

me:  The death of Batman will do that to you.

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