Great Power. Grave Responsibility.

50 ccs of pure uninterrupted horse power, aka a
Tvs(also comes with pedals)beamed at me as i swung around
to find what i was about to endure. I started the day thrilled that
i had acquired a small part-time job. The sun was golden yellow,
the wind in my hair(yes). I felt invinsible.

So.
I trulled along towards my golden gate so to speak, my picture of
perpetual independence, the destiny of every man, boy and child.

Work.

Job Description:

Deliver whatever we give you at the speed of light.
Saluting the General, I proudly excepted my orders, and
optimistically hoped i would find the letters NOS stuck
to some part of the 'metal frame' i was about to mount.
I was delivering meat, fresh meat.

Enter Meat Boy and Ramu.

Riding Shotgun - little Ramu (not sure what his name was,
making a safe assumption.) He was my personal gps,
armed with a killer sense of smell and a sharper left finger.
Show me the way i rumble, trying best to disguise
my frame behind my helmet, you would think it impossible,
i beg to differ. So there i was hidden behind my mask,
helping them people who could not venture to the
friendly neighbourhood Meat Man, picking up the bills,
being a regular meat boy. Until, my first stop;
strange looking lady, her power, the need to question;

Old Lady: Who are you?
MB (Meat Boy):... Market Basket?

Old Lady: Who? - Where is the little fellow.
MB: ummm..

Old Lady: Are you short staffed?
MB: ummm..

Old Lady: Well..?
MB: I'm just helping out today.

Old Lady: Delivering meat?
MB: Yep, it seemed like an interesting prospect at the time.

Old Lady: Is something wrong with your pants?
They seem to be falling off.

MB: ummm..

MB: You may pay later ma'am, thank you, have a nice day.
Old Lady: God bless you child..

The End.

[Short extract from the adventures of 'Meat Boy and Ramu'] Copyright 07.