[ WP ] Your guardian angel hates you . But they still have to do their job ... technically ...

Another rainy Monday. I hate rain. I hate Mondays. And I really hate -- 
 
 HANG ON, I'LL BE RIGHT BACK! 
 
 Whoo, sorry. It's just that goddarn idiot Kevin I've been forced to protect. What is he, blind? Just walked *right* in front of a truck, like he's Mister Friggin' Magoo. Had to push the wretch into a puddle just to save his stupid, stupid, stupid life. 
 
 It was a big puddle. Really big. 
 
 Anyway, where was I? Mondays. Right. I hate'em. Kevin was born on a Monday. Cutest little kid you ever saw, for all of about three minutes. Then the little cretin tried to: fall out of his mother's arms onto the floor, fall out of his father's arms onto the floor, fall out of his nurse's -- 
 
 OH LORD, HOLD THAT THOUGHT! 
 
 Congratulations, Kevin, you *just missed* walking directly into a drug deal. You walked into a telephone pole instead. You're welcome. 
 
 So back to Kevin. Oh wait, we never left Kevin this whole time, because if you leave Kevin for more than ten seconds HE'LL KILL HIMSELF! I do not know who I upset in the celestial hierarchy, but boy oh boy am I ever sorry. I bet it was that one time I spilled that wine on Jesus. What's the big deal with that anyway? He just turned it back into water; it was like nothing ever happened! So maybe I had a little too much to drink, but who -- 
 
 OH NO YOU DO N'T YOU LITTLE -- 
 
 Back. I do n't know when that guy's gon na learn to look both ways. YOU'VE LIVED IN MIAMI YOUR WHOLE LIFE, YA BUM! FIGURE IT OUT! 
 
 Sorry. I guess he's getting to me a little. Because he sucks. He sucks so, so much. Like a giant, steaming pile of... oh, great. He made it to work. Hang on a second, I got ta break all the staplers. Preventive medicine, you know. 
 
 Okay, staplers broken. We should be okay, as long as he does n't just plunge a staple into his eyeball like the brain-dead turkey he is. We should at least have a couple minutes to talk while he opens and shuts the broken staplers on his hand in dead-eyed, slack-jawed, knuckle-dragging -- 
 
 YOUR HEAD DOES NOT GO IN THE PHOTOCOPIER! WHY WOULD YOU THINK YOUR HEAD GOES IN THE PHOTOCOPIER? 
 
 Okay, he's out. Slammed the top of the photocopier on his big, stupid head. I know, I know, I'm too kind. Everyone says so. 
 
 I'm just way too good at this job. First couple years, I thought no way this clown makes it into adulthood. I mean, this kid swallowed six separate frogs. In one week. You know his diet was like 80 % dirt until he was ten? Then he hit 18, and I thought, good job Zephon. He's made it way farther than anyone coulda expected, nobody's gon na blame you when he gets unavoidably shot for being the physical incarnation of Jar Jar Binks. But lo and behold -- 
 
 HOW ARE YOU UP ALREADY? HOW THICK IS YOUR SKULL? IT'S ONE SOLID PIECE, IS N'T IT? JUST BONE ALL THE WAY THROUGH! 
 
 Hey, I'm real sorry but I got ta run. Kevin's headed to the boss's office, and if I'm not on my A-game he's gon na get fired. Holy mother of pearl, I do n't even want to think about what it'll be like if he's *homeless*. 
 
 NO NO NO! DO NOT STOP BY THE COFFEE MACHINE! YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED TO TOUCH ANYTHING ABOVE ROOM TEMPERATURE, REMEMBER?
