An EMP is an electromagnetic pulse. It can be used as a bomb. It’s a bomb that’s heck on microwaves and such. I am an electromagnetic pulse bomb. It’s not my fault. I was born with extra electromagnets—also extra pulses.
The evidence:
Example #1 of my EMP capabilities -
I bought a Kindle, which is a nifty machine that uses electric to suck up all the words in the world at the cost of $7.98 per book. The power cord of my kindle disintegrated like a cracker in a mud puddle. Holding the crumbling power cord in my hands, I tried to show it to my husband.
“Is this normal?” Bits of plastic power cord coating rained down like . . . like . . . well, rain.
Sherwood, my darling husband, did not look up from his electronic machine masters of which there are three.
“Did the dog chew it?”
Exposed wires bulged like worms from the dissolving plastic along the entire length of the power cord. Plastic sawdust coated my hands.
“It was plugged into the wall socket, behind the bookcase,” I said, squinting at the bare wires. “I mean, Ploodle did eat a couple of my computer cords, but unless Ploodle has become a wire eating beaver who can burrow under a bookshelf . . . seriously, look at this.”
Note: Ploodle is our five-pound Yorkshire terrier who has a history of chewing computer power cords, chicken throats, and brassieres.
He raised his bleary eyes from the glare of artificial computer lights—Sherwood, not Ploodle. I held the cord up. It continued to dissolve in my electromagnetic pulse bomb hands.
He gave me a professional diagnosis.
“That’s weird,” he said, turning back to his computer, also known as the mother ship.
“There’s a scientific explanation,” I mumbled. “There has to be.”
Example # 2
When I bought the computer before this computer and the computer before that one, the nice people at the Apple store gave me a free I-POD. It seemed a fun little gadget, and a lot of people tried to take it from me. (You know who you are, you thieving yetis.)
But I said, “No!”
The thieves narrowed their thieving yeti eyes at me.
I said, “It’s mine.”
And then I said, “What does it do?”
There was an involved demonstration in which various of my offspring punched mysteriously at the surface of the silvery gadget and then flashed the results of their strange finger movements to me and said loudly, “See!” and “Hear!” Then they handed it to me.
I put the gadget my overall’s pocket and went out to garden while listening to Freddy Mercury sing about plump people riding on bicycles and living forever with rhapsodic bohemians. Every time I bent over to pull weeds it fell out of my pocket into the dirt and worms.
The I-POD no longer works, BECAUSE I AM AN ELECTROMAGNETIC PULSE BOMB—Duh!!
Example # 3:
I haven’t had a normal conversation on the telephone since we got rid of the “tele” part of the name in phone and changed it to “cell.” I have a bubble around my head of electromagnetic pulses that sucks up all the cells out of the cell phone the way some people can suck all the fun out of a Facebook status. The bubble also interferes with satellite transmissions, or I have a bubblehead.
Example # 4:
I can shoot static electric lightning bolts from my fingertips, but that’s only any good if you want to set dryer lint on fire.
Conclusion:
I hate being an EMP bomb. I want to be a bombshell or a super hero.
Linda (Outgoing) Zern
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