Power Love

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11 May 2009


I have figured out how I’m going to use all those uniquely refined combat and tactical skills I picked up when I was going to be a CIA spy but was subsequently dumped because of rampant blood clotitis and my inability to refrain from telling the Republicans to suck it: I am going to coordinate and strategerize a vending machine war. You may now refer to me as General Morris, although if this is a shocking development, know you have a grace period in which you can continue to use “Your Majesty,” but after 30 days, it’s “General,” or you will be sent to the stockpile.

Because I am what’s known as A Thinker, I spend many hours at work staring off into the distance thinking Very Big Thoughts. Sometimes, when I’m unable to properly calculate the ratio of passive verbs to active verbs in the English language, I walk into the copy room and stare at the vending machine.

It’s a standard issue vending machine, though I suspect it has socialist tendencies. One of the best things about the socialist vending machine is that it has Juicy Fruit. Juicy Fruit is The Thinker’s Gum, as you know, and when chewed while drinking an ice cold Coca-Cola Classic from the can, the sugar high is unparalleled. The best part about the Juicy Fruit from the socialist vending machine is that when it’s pushed out of its Juicy Fruit slot, it’s done so with a push arm mechanism, so that the gum is pushed an inch upwards from its slot, then pushed outward with a bar, after which it lands in the pocket. If the socialist vending machine were a kangaroo, its pocket would be the roo’s pouch. This is all to say, while somewhat unceremonious, it is a highly effective process.

The pretzels, however, are trapped in the rows above the Juicy Fruit and reside in slots delineated by metal spirals. As a former majesty and current general, I am obligated to eat large quantities of pretzels, particularly Snyder’s Old-Fashioned Pretzels that come three to a package, but are delicious and therefore worth every penny of the 75 cent price tag.

The problem is, when you pop your 75 cents in, the metal spirals hang on for dear life to the edges of the Snyder’s Pretzels, as though they can’t bear to see their loved ones go. In addition, there are no dividers between the snack foods, so occasionally the pretzels lean to the left, into the Fritos, or to the right, into the Doritos. Now, I’m an open-minded general. You wanna lean into a bag of Fritos, by all means, go for it. Just don’t talk about it in public.

HOWEVER, when the corner of the pretzel bag gets caught behind the corner of the Fritos bag, and then the metal spiral latches on to the bottom of the pretzel bag, and the machine has just eaten three of my quarters, which could also be used for laundry, and all I end up with is a dangling bag of pretzels trapped behind socialist vending machine glass and a suspicious lack of forthcoming returned change THEN THAT IS WAR. You should not fuck with a woman’s pretzels. Write that down.

My attempts at brokering a peace deal amounted to nothing. The vending machine supplier refused to accept my suggestion to take more care in shelving the snack items. Apparently, he has a “schedule” that must be “maintained,” which means there is not “time” to properly shelve. I ask you, WHERE IS THE ART?

Next, my attempts to redesign the socialist vending machine were met with scorn. According to Vending Machine HQ, they are “not accepting new design ideas at this time.” My suggestion to add dividers and push arms were characterized as “economically unfeasible,” to which I say, WHERE IS MY 75 CENTS?

Seventy-five cents is 3/4 of a load of laundry and I can stuff A LOT of clothes into one load of laundry, which means the socialist vending machine is ENTIRELY RESPONSIBLE for that overflowing pile of dirty clothes on my bedroom floor. THIS IS MY SECOND DECLARATION OF WAR.

I am going to create my own line of socialist vending machines and then I’m going to send them to the General Morris Recruitment Camp for Wayward Vending and then I’m going to train them how to lumber across a copy room, and, with one quick flick of a push arm, completely decimate one of those antiquated, metal-spiral-loving machines.

And in this way, I shall rule the world. You should join me now, before you’re trapped in the muck of socialism and tangled snack items.