Jeff Wysaski
Somewhere in a laboratory deep beneath the earth, scientists are working on building a better me.
The new me will be better than me in almost every aspect. In terms of physical fitness, scientists hypothesize he will have the strength of at least two me’s combined. There are even talks that he will be able to lift a full 10 lbs. directly above his head, without even needing the help of his grandmother, or a small, remote control helicopter.
Somehow, the new me will be programmed to survive on fewer than 13 hours of sleep each night. And when it comes to the mid-morning and pre-dinner naps, well, you can just forget about it, mister. Because the new me will be able to make it all day without feeling compelled to curl up and catch a quick 2-hour catnap in the sunspot in the middle of the floor.
The new me will be more courteous, too. When people loan him money, he’ll probably pay back some of it, at least. And when he’s at work, experts doubt he’ll ever open the window and drop water balloons onto the pedestrians below. And if he does, well then the water balloons probably won’t be filled with oil-based paint.
How much better will the new me be? My guess is about 60 percent. But then again, I’ve never been that great at geometry. So if you want a more accurate prediction, my advice would be to hold off and ask the better me once he’s built. Because the new me will probably have graduated middle school.
Also, my vocabulary will probably increase ten-fold. It will go from good, to gooder.
One area where I don’t think the new me will need much improvement, is parties. Because when it comes to parties, I am already the life of them. Unless, of course, the new me is somehow better at sneaking up behind people and starting surprise tickle fights. Or making more realistic fart noises with his armpits.
When will the new me be ready? It’s hard for me to say. Because when I try to think about it, my brain starts to hurt a little, and then I zone out for a while and stare at the wall. And by the time the drool hits my arm and snaps me back to reality, I’ve lost my train of thought.
The new me probably won’t have to worry about that.
I’ve tried to contact the scientists to learn more about the new me, but when I tell the telephone to “call the scientists,” it never seems to work. Not even when I yell really loudly.
So for now, I guess I’ll just have to wait patiently until the scientists are done building a better me, and he shows up on my doorstep to phase me out. I don’t know when that’ll be, but I hope it’s soon. Because I’ll bet the better me knows how to open this can of beans. And, boy, I sure am hungry.
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