Everyday a man rows out. Far, far out into the Pacific, and he brings along a long metal rod. He uses the rod to push the sun out just a little bit, if he didn’t do his job the sun would fall into the ocean and kill us all.
That man is my father, his father before him had the job, and the father before and so on. When my dad dies, I’m going to be that man.
The problem is that I’m infertile, and due to some run ins with the law I can’t adopt. No one believes that I’m telling the truth.
So, if any of you readers would like to volunteer your children for the role let us know, if not you’ve got a couple years left.
