Hypotheticals keep the mind busy.

I like to think that when my brain has downtime it turns into a ‘what if’ generator. When our minds are on the toilet, childhood daydreams would be the Angry Birds to keep it entertained.

-My mind is so preoccupied with these thoughts it owes you a courtesy flush-

Imagination seems to be linked to A.D.D. so much that it’s downright freaky.

We have this amazing ability to process symbols, numbers, letters, words, noises, colors, faces, etc…and what do we do? We sit around all day thinking how bad ass it would be to fuck a glitter-skinned vampire or what weapon we’d use to take out zombie Amy Winehouse. Answer: Cocaine-tipped bullets, aim for the nose.

There will never be a zombie apocalypse, and not to burst your bubble, but romantic vampires don’t exist either. In fact, I don’t even think date-rape vampires would have a chance in this lifetime.

In all honesty, I truly believe if there even was a zombie infestation that I’d be part of the unlucky group to catch the devastating disease. Instantly infected on whatever military base it broke free from and never get my chance on the zombie-shooting playing field. I’d never have a kick-ass hat, a southern drawl, sharpshooter aim, and a desire for Twinkies.

I’d just be Steve, the blogging zombie. The talking dead.

This goes well beyond teenage-dominated undead fiction as well. There will never be the ability to-

• fly
• be invisible
• be super-human
• be bulletproof
• be telekinetic
•  be stretchy

…or my childhood dreams of superpowers that could make anyone wet their pants, at anytime, just by me staring at them. I swear to god. I wanted the ability to make bad guys urinate, and not in an R. Kelly way. I wouldn’t be alone in my crusade against crime, I’d have my sidekick who would clean up wherever the criminal peed, so the city wouldn’t smell bad. We’d be called, “Gold & Shower.”

Now that I think about it, I was a pretty fucked up 9 year old.

We’d all love to mix alcohol with our new-found powers and be like Hancock, without the shitty second half.

You’ll never be the Hulk, in fact you probably have a better chance in life of growing an extra chromosome and being more like Lou Ferigno instead. No matter how bad you want it, no matter how hard you wish, all that is going to happen when you get mad is maybe you turn into passive-aggressive Hulk, saying things like-

“You’re making me angry. You won’t like me when I’m angry…but ya know, whatevs. I get this way when my blood sugar is low, do you have any crackers? Fuck, did I forget to feed the meter? I need like, seventy-five cents.”

That fucking sucks. There is no fun in realism. It goes beyond powers as well, in fact it crosses over into all the fictional creatures you ever thought about owning.

I’ll never own a Mogwai. The harsh and brutal reality of that statement is so gut-wrenching that I actually winced whilst typing it. I will never have the chance to not only have a Mogwai, but to accidentally get too fucked up one night and feed it some hot pockets at 12:51am.

“Gizmo! You should’ve seen this girl at the club that was all over me! Woo, I tell ya. Here, have some beer to wash down that microwaved ham-n-cheese deliciousness. Why’s it so dark? Turn a light on up in this bitch.”

Sadly, unless I write comics, movies or books, these daydreams and fantasies will never help me excel in life. They don’t progress life, my 9 year old self would be so ashamed of me. They won’t help anyone, unless it’s just passing the time, shooting the shit with your buddies.

No one will end world peace with powers from Krypton.

Or save the rainforest after mixing up elixirs and turning into half-plant.

Or running a half-marathon for cancer because you’re the flash.

Everyone needs something to do. Our brains need an Angry Birds shit break. Because it sucks to wear a tie 5 days a week, and not making it to the gym enough. It’s more fun to think of what you’d do if you were invisible than it is to finish those spreadsheets by Monday morning.

It’s debates over a beer with a fellow friend who has a job, kids, wife, mortgage, and most importantly a serious hard-on for what he would do with the ability to shoot webs from his fingertips.

Actually, it’d be fun to shoot webs from any part of my body, except for the fact that eventually my sheets would look like they’ve been in an attic for years…