If My Life Were An Action Movie...

• Running into road work would never, ever be a problem. I'd just abandon my vehicle in favor of a construction vehicle, or possibly a convenient tank. Either way, I'd master the controls instantly, leaving its rightful owners waving their fists while I continued on my way.

• At some point, I'd meet a random beautiful girl; a waitress, stewardess, or some other stranger passing by. Though she wouldn't trust me at first, and we'd just met, I'd still enlist her services, and she'd prove useful up until the point she made a critical mistake requiring me to rescue her, extending my task from an hour and a half to two hours easily.

• In the event that a random beautiful girl was unavailable, a wisecracking youth, either a relative or another random individual, would instead accompany me.

• It would be impossible for me to achieve even the smallest victory without delivering a really bad pun:

”I meet deadlines...dead.”

“Time to make a collate call.”

“Looks like I'm gonna have to clean out my inbox.”

“All's well, that stairwell.”

“I eat sandwiches like you for lunch.”

“I guess I felt like a little wonton destruction.”

“That magenta cartridge took care of that toner of a lonely heart!”

“I'll be back...for dessert.”

“My mail is...in the mail.”

“Looks like you've been dragged and dropped!”

“I’m just a staple of this community”

“What's wrong, traffic light? You yellow?”

“Font....you.”

• The company cafeteria would also be a strip club, as would any of our conference rooms. No important conversations could take place without some gratuitous nudity.

• Changing to go to the gym would take fifteen minutes, allowing for close shots of me flexing and unbuttoning my shirt to show how freaking ripped I am. This of course parallels real life exactly.

• My boss would never just fire me. Instead, he'd create an elaborate trap, and leave me unsupervised while I devised an escape plan. This may or may not parallel real life.

• My swearing would increase 333%, without anyone batting an eye.

• I would never, ever run out of staples, unless I was facing off against a master page. I'd have to attach that one with a larger stapler or my bare hands, and it would be bloody.

• Stairs and elevators are for wussies. Grappling hook all the way, baby!

• I'd drive to work in my Ford F150, make all important phone calls on my MotoRazr V3, always have a can of Pepsi with the logo visible in my hand or on my desk, and I'd walk past a Starbucks every five minutes, wearing my Nike sneakers, naturally.

• Before an important meeting, I'd smear toner on my face to look intimidating. If anyone in the meeting questioned it I'd either scream “FREEDOM!” or staple them with extreme prejudice.

• Before a parade or feast, there would be a five minute montage of me assembling the pieces of my instrument. The final product would look smaller than the sum of the parts seen, but no one would care because mad s*** would explode in my wake.

• Messengers would be shot, seconds after I received an important package. Their last words would provide me with a clear game plan for at least a half hour.

• There's only one way to deal with papercuts: pour gunpowder on them and set it on fire to cauterize the wound. No painkillers are required; I'd just bite down on my carpal tunnel guard.

• My lips wouldn't be moving, but we'd hear my voice reading every word I typed. Like these. And these. These too. Not to mention these...

• At the end of the day I'd walk off into the sunset. If the day was particularly long, I'd walk off into the sunrise. Either way, the random beautiful girl and/or spunky teen sidekick would be by my side even as an appropriate generic but patriotic rock ballad played.

• I wouldn't be sitting in front of a computer writing about it.