Possible Conspiracies Against Me

by Crom

I can no longer assume that a confluence of events are leading to how my life is shaping up. I can now firmly state that there is some kind of ordered plan to keep my life growing in a particular direction, a direction that I would otherwise contest to had I any foreknowledge of it. However, despite attempts to conceal it from my view, I have pieced together various parts of the unified conspiracy against me, and I’ve come to realize that it reaches all points of commerce and politics at work in the world today. Onward, to the meat of the matter..

Conspiracy #1:
From the age of 12 I have been unable to obtain a pair of shoes that fits me correctly. When my mother and I would go shopping for footwear, she would invariable be forced to ask what they had in a size 13, rather then finding something I liked and then seeing if they had the size. Asking for anything that big in the first place basically made the process of finding a shoe easier, since it eliminated the need to look around for an hour asking various sales staff what sizes they had that or this shoe in. Even now I find it difficult to find a good shoe in the size that I need, so much so that when I do, I’m forced to purchase it right away in order to secure footwear for later times. I’m now convinced that the Global Shoe Council (and they exist, don’t laugh) made an order in 1987 to deny me proper footwear in order to keep me from going outside. Fortunately a number of European shoe makers either didn’t understand, or believed themselves outside this decree, and made shoes that fit me. They’re no longer in business, in case you were wondering.

Conspiracy #2:

In 1994 on my way to a Sneak Peak of the new Star Trek movie, Generations, while leaving the C-Train platform I threw away my ticket. Almost instantly the transit police arrived and began checking for them. I told them I had thrown mine away. I went and found it in fact, showing it to the officer. She didn’t believe me, and gave me a citation. I find her steadfast disbelief that it was my ticket interesting, especially since it was valid for the time, the right day, everything was in order. She still ticketed me, fishy. I’ve come to the conclusion that this was a clumsy way of getting me on the grid; now they had my record on file, and could pin this ?crime? on me in order to control other aspects of my life later on (ie. Denial into the US, denial of bonding, etc.) however, I contested the ticket, and then didn’t show up to the court date. In the haze of confusion that ensued from my seemingly contradictory behaviour, they lost track of me, and I was never charged for the offense. Pawn to Queen’s 5, pigs, check.

Conspiracy #3:
This is pretty simple. I have never, not once in my life, eaten a hot meal in a restaurant. I don’t understand why, I mean really, if this is indeed some kind of plan against me, it’s really lame. While I like hot food as opposed to cold, I’ve never really be inconvenienced by it. I mean seriously, it’s not like I’ve been horribly scarred by the fact my prime rib has been cold, or my bread stale. I mean really, I could eat a shoe and probably be content, having worked in the industry myself I have very little expectations from short order cooks at large. Most are poor bastard twenty somethings who have yet to accrue the necessary funds they need to start their economics degree yet. SO while I am entirely confident that there is some plan to serve me cold food for the rest of my life, I fail to understand the significance or purpose behind this idiotic plan, thus I award myself a point in this matter for having foiled them with my indifference.

Final Conspiracy:
In the summer of 1993 I purchased a rare hologram card printed my Marvel Comics. The card depicted a battle between Spiderman and the Hobgoblin (for those who don’t know, hobgoblin will most likely be appearing in the next Spiderman movie, as in the comics, Hobgoblin was Harry Osbourne, the son of the Green Goblin, however his power stemmed from the occult as opposed to the technological) and was considered one of the finest cards in the Marvel hologram collection. I purchased it from the Another Dimension comic shop, and I thought it was a sound purchase. 5 months later I no longer possessed the card. I was quite certain for a number of years that my mother had thrown it out when she found it, thinking it just another collectors item that held no value, the card has since increased in significant value since I bought it (although not high finance, I consider it a stunning financial victory on the behalf of my allowance lobby group) The series of holograms in question attained a fairly good collector status, since they were never repeated by the people who illustrated them.

Specifically (and this is somewhat dated information) it was Eric Larsen (this is significant to me because that is my brothers name, although his is spelled more appropriately with a K, and our family name is Larson, but whatever) and to my knowledge he never made another of the card series. More to my point however, I asked my mother about it a few years after the fact, and she claimed to never have touched anything in my room, expecting me to clean it, as well she had learned not to dispose of what appeared to be casual comic paraphernalia when my brother almost ended her life when she threatened the existence of a number of his West Coast Avenger and Silver Surfer books. It was then that I clued into the possible black hand involvement in the lose of a significant chunk of my allocated savings going missing. This has hounded me, always making me think that my current financial crap bag started on that day, as the original snowball was formed and tossed, oh so casually down the hill. I sacrificed a great deal of my holdings and was promptly burned on the deal, creating a paradigm that would follow me to this very day. I’m quite certain that the card is still in existence, in mint condition, locked in some government vault, for a few of the highly influential big wigs with the security status high enough (two levels above ?Q? so secret there is no name, i feel sure) can gaze at it lovingly and know that they sealed my destruction in stone the day they robbed me of it. My only course of action at this point, is to once again delve into the realm of comics and their ilk in order to break the Crystal Lake-esque curse that haunts my existence.

I will break you, you bastards.

Prepare.

Crom