I have a cousin who is a genius at whittling. I visited his house once and on the coffee table was a whittled cage with a wooden ball trapped inside. It totally blew my mind. If NASA doesn't already have a whittling department, they need to create one because my cousin can build the future using only a pocketknife and balsa wood.

Meanwhile, I'm a pro when it comes to maintaining cowlicks and being summoned for jury duty. Surely, there is a soul-sucking workplace with asinine procedures that deserves a man of my stature…

Each and every day, without fail, my boss will hand me a document with a note that reads, "Let's discuss this,” and then walk back to his desk. I immediately go to him with the document and ask, "You wanted to discuss this?" What follows is a discussion of the document and a desire to drink away the brain cells that ground me in reality.

Until that time comes, I anxiously await NASA's offer for a job in their creative writing department.