Understanding Boxing Gloves

No-one understood boxing gloves.

See, there was always a little confusion about my career, in that people had a hard time trying to reconcile the way I acted and my actual actions.

I went to great effort to be polite, nice, and humble. I supported charities, I remembered names, I made sure to stress how the workers were the main focus of my business.

And yet, my empire grew on the backs of hostile acquisitions, forced mergers, ruthless business tactics.

People just couldn’t grasp the concept of boxing gloves.

They protect you, not the opponent, thus letting you hit harder.

Start Over

I…

Wrong way to start this.

She…

No, no, this is about her, but I can’t start with her.

We…

No, no.

It was overcast, spitting rain. I was wrapped in my usual brown trench coat and…

Focus, man.

The day was grey and lifeless, I was matching it. Then I saw her, striding through the occasional raindrop as if they weren’t there.

OK, here we go…

She seemed so confident, so self-assured, that I knew she had to be special, but who was I? No-one.

Wait, what? You weren’t no-one, you were special!

Oh, thank you dear.

Start over.

Junk Mail

XKF-33-27 (#12453) rolled down the corridor, and stopped at the correct barcoded door. It extended a handshake connector into the door lock, but received no response, sending a note to the building’s engineering droid the lock seemed to have its handshake connector filled with an unknown substance. XKF-33-27 (#12453) engaged the secondary method of announcement, and ran into the door three times.

After 12.57 seconds, the door opened, and an accepted face was scanned upon the opening of the door.

“Hello Person ***ERROR***, I have a package for you!”

It extended its shelf, pulling the pin on the grenade inside.