There’s not a lot that I can do really well. Oh sure, I can type pretty fast and I can sing to my steering wheel like there’s no tomorrow, but really I don’t excel at much.

Except for the Crash and Burn.


I can crash and burn like nobody’s business. I crash in the most spectacular fashion. It’s beautiful, really.

All I need is a stressful day, an unexpected bill, or maybe just an exasperated look from the spouse and I am on FIRE.  The sparks that fly off my fingers as I rip into bags of chips are blinding. My descent into binge hell is like the most perfect swan dive off an Olympic platform. Graham crackers, lunch meat, cereals of the sugar variety…nothing is off limits when I dance my way around the kitchen, leaving a blurry trail of light and crumbs in my wake.

It’s what I do best. I’m thinking of turning it into a performance art. Of course refreshments would be provided at intermission.

Yes, I have become the master of glorious explosions and scorched earth. Wrappers will go unidentified, cartons will be less full, and no one will be the wiser.

It’s nice to be a master of something.

Now if only I could learn to use my powers for good…