The Worst Holiday

Some of my minions think that I’ve been pretty stressed out lately. I’d never admit it to them, but it’s true. The initiative to ruin the lives of humans by making it so difficult to get their welfare payments that they’d prefer to just live on the street really took it out of me. It worked great, but there was a lot of planning. On the bright side, homelessness by choice has skyrocketed in recent weeks.

The other day, one of my nameless minions suggested that I take a holiday. I can’t believe it said that to me. My response was something like, “You want me, Garthablog the Twenty-Seventh, Ruler of the Underworld and Lord of All Things Unholy, to go on a holiday and leave the work to my minions? Garthablog does not rest! He does not take holidays! He has over seven billion accrued days of leave, which he intends to take as a single payment when he retires. For your insolence, I banish you to eternal darkness, nameless minion!”

I hate admitting it, but I was wrong. Originally I went on holiday because of how good I thought it would be. But it’s been terrible! My car broke down while I was travelling through Brighton. Auto electrical businesses around here are all shut today! I’ve been so bored, it’s been amazing. To make things even worse, there was a three kilometre-long marching band with only bagpipe players that passed me, while I waited for the only mobile mechanic around Brighton to come and fix the car. Once I got going, I was stuck in traffic near Hobart. Surely this holiday couldn’t get any more incredible!

I would apologise to you, unnamed demon, were you not floating in the endless void that even Garthablog the Twenty-Seventh cannot reach. If you somehow manage to find internet out there, I hope it is the slowest, most awful of 3G connections. That’s how much you mean to me now. Thank you.