So I’ve decided to write a post and that is what you’re seeing right now with your very eyes. A post that’s being typed away by my hands almost independently from my body. My goodness, look at them go! “Type away beautiful hands!”: I exclaim as the other patrons of the coffee shop exchange worried looks. “Yes, yes. Wonderful words”: I scream, frothing at the mouth while the people around me vigorously rip their phones out of their pockets to notify the authorities, presumably, of my writing prowess. I type away and begin to jig around the coffee shop, enchanted by the wonderful stream of consciousness pouring out of my fingertips. “Another wonderful sentence!” I explode, kicking my legs in all directions. At that moment the police burst in the door. Obviously, having been notified by the other coffee-shop-goers of the literary marvels underway they decided they could not let this opportunity pass to come and see me in action. “Don’t come too near, officers. You might be overwhelmed by my arsenal of words”: I jokingly declare while wind-milling with my legs.
However, the police seem to have decided that my literary genius may be dangerous to the greater public and open fire. I take a moment to ponder the situation as the bullets fly past my ears. What a strange turn of events. One could have hardly imagined that my writing a simple post for a website could provoke such controversy. I contemplate my own existence as the gunfire increases and I am ripped back to reality by a searing pain in all of my internal organs.
No time to dilly-dally! It’s time to maybe make and exit. This article needs to be written in a more relaxed environment, perhaps a place with less gunfire and bloodshed. I throw my computer in the direction of the officers to distract them and make my way to the back exit. But, a thought occurs to me: how am I writing this article if I threw away my computer? Oh no! I appear to have thrown my hands away along with the computer. Damn blast my absent-mindedness. While I’m making my escape my hands are still busy typing away on my literary masterpiece. Undeterred, I climb through the open window at the back of the café and make my way to the street where I flag down a car with my stumps.
The driver, seeing my predicament, very thoughtfully gets out of the car and runs away screaming. “Thank you!” I yell after him. What a nice man. I get in and whirl the car around (very adeptly, I might add, considering I no longer have the dexterity I’m used to) to go back to the café to retrieve my hands.
I plough the car through the front wall of the café and yell to my hands: “get in!”. They oblige and spring in the back seat. The police officers are too dazed to do anything as I peel away down the street.
While returning home my hands complete the article and I give it one last look over before high-fiving my hands. “We did it, old buddies”. And we share a hearty laugh together.
The End?
