Sliced Bread 2: The Greatest Thing Since Sliced Bread

It seems like every month or so, something happens that makes me think, "That's it. That's the last straw. I'm not doing this crap anymore. That's the limit." And then I swallow my pride or my nausea or my basic common sense and deal with it and move on, having lowered my standards of existence yet again.

I'm not sure what made me think of writing that.

Unless it was today's struggle between Greyghost and an escaped rhinoceros with explosive projectile diarrhea.

I'm sure it must have been unpleasant for Greyghost too; I'm not saying that. I'm just saying that if I were a superhero, perish the thought, and if I got drenched with the entire contents of a rhino's intestine, I wouldn't turn my costume and equipment over to a flunky to clean it. I would do it myself.

Or at least I'd stand under the hose for a minute first. I mean, good Christ. I've had two showers since I scraped the last blobs out of the grappling-hook gun, and Cassie still won't come within ten feet of me.