Letter to Miss Murphy

Anything that can go wrong will go wrong (1)

Hello, Miss Murphy.

How do you do? By your own law, not so great, I suppose. One always hopes for the best though and I’m sure you’re no an exception to it.

The funny part is, it appears you are a victim of your own prophecy. A lot of us assume you’re a man. It is often believed that your famous theory was coined accidentally by a cranky Air Force captain, Edward Murphy who cursed his fumbling technician. But no one knows for sure. Why does it have to be a man always? Not that your painfully truthful words are worth fighting for accreditation, but I’m glad the feminazis are yet to load their canons on this one. Trust me, you do not want to mess with them. You’d lose even the word “Murphy” on the law then.

Oh, damn. Just a second, my milk has boiled and spilt all over the stove.

** Cleans the stove, the burners, the valves, the burners, the counter, THE DAMN BURNERS.**

I have always wanted to know how you came upon this revolutionary concept. It must have been one hell of an experiment. Or experiments, ’cause I’m pretty sure you had to rework on the wrongs every time.

Now, I don’t know where your lab is housed or how long you have been working on this, but I plead you to stop with your experiments. We have enough to deal with already, you know. Politically orphaning children. Shooting for sheer joy. Teenagers.

As I was saying… Holy guacamole! How did the school bully end up in this café? Hell, she’s looking in my direction now!

** Gathers laptop, pens, papers, bag, half-melted Toblerone and rushes out to the park. Sneaks back in for the purse. Begins writing. Drops pen. Pen rolls into the dirty fountain. Dirty fountain seems fathomless.**

**Continues writing after two very eventful hours.**

So if you could just grab the retirement package offered by Karma Inc and take off on a vacation to the planet of Tivoli, we, your guinea pigs humans, would gladly wish you the very best. I’m certain the collective goodwill of all of us two-limbed, snorting-talking creatures would overpower the cosmic balance of your findings.

So it might… eeks! Could this bird not find any other place to do its business?!

** Walks home fast. Slips and falls face first in the slush. Somehow makes it home. Fills the tub to settle in for a bath. Doorbell rings. Bully is home. Bully does what she does best. Somehow sends her home. Somehow finishes bath. Cleans the shit sheet of paper.**

You know what, Murphy? I’m tired. I thought I could convey a meaningful representative message from us lab-humans, but you seem to not heed my words. Quite the opposite in fact.

You may have succeeded in having me give up now, Miss. But know that the human race has survived on this planet for six million years. Survived. Always. And you cannot simply beat that.

Good Badbye,




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