Cardboard Armor
Today I’m sitting at my desk clad from head to toe in cardboard armor. You can’t fuck with me today. A knight in compressed paper. Sitting proudly behind the keyboard like a homeless MF DOOM. Today I’m ready for all of it. The insults and the complements deflected by my shoebox shield. Bring your A game because today I’m not taking any shit.
I raise my pen like a spear and uncurl a scream as long as the Amazon River. Alexander the Great couldn’t sink this cardboard ship. I’m bending with your blows and striking back with the force of a thousand wrapping paper rolls to the neck. I gave you fair warning.
There are no weaknesses in my defense. Free UPS-shipped boxing gloves pound a pizza box breastplate. I’m ready for all challengers. Bring your box cutters; they will do you no good. I’m doubled layered and triple stacked. Banana box shin guards so you better guard your goods. The fibers in my knee pads are interlocked like Velcro lovers. My feet are stomped into beer case boots ready to crush anything in my way.
Don’t worry, you’ll hear me coming. You’ll have plenty of time to prepare your assault. Your attempts will be futile. My wristbands say Starbucks so don’t bother bringing the heat. I’m prepared for it all. Don’t mistake the “Fragile” stamp on my cardboard cup for weakness. Even the breakable bits can withstand your greatest onslaught.
I’m a warrior with words. Shielded by machine pressed paper and stamped with my origin. Rumbling like a freight train and cruising at high altitude like a predator drone. Fuck waterproof, this is a fool proof plan. Don’t mind the insignia; I’m working freelance with diplomatic immunity. My blade is carved from the hardest corner pieces that trash trucks couldn’t crumble. Twice recycled, never defeated. You’ll need a world of warehouse to compete.
Keep your shimmery chest plates and shine your silver bullets. It won’t stop me. I’m coming at you like an unwrapped Christmas. When I’m done with the contenders, I’ll shelter your homeless and create hollow homes for your kids. Use me to board up your shattered souls and wrap me around your next day air. I’m on a mission.
I already used my white flag to wipe my bloody nose – there will be no surrender. One shot and a whole heap of recyclables, running full speed ahead. Cardboard cutout eyes opened wide to the wind. If I die, drag me away on my shield. Burry me in the box from your big screen TV. Throw a match into my open grave and listen to the black smoke sing you a song in cursive.
Sincerely yours,
Grunt Words - the last cardboard armored ethnowordocologist who isn’t afraid of the rain.