i wake up bright-and-early at 11:52 AM to turn off my iphone alarm playing lil nas, the best musician of all time

i step into my jesus slippers (to remind myself that Hᴇ is always beneath me) and i put on my satan cap (to remind myself that satan is my lord)

i listen to five NPR podcasts as i drink free-trade natural-process gluten-free vegan hipster coffee, affix my 12 pronouns pins to my starbucks apron, and walk out the door straight into the middle of the road, where there are no cars (mars is in retrograde)

i snooze the targeted-harrassment assignment emails from my boss, Mr. Antifa as i continue on my 15-minute walk

just as i'm finishing my second marijuana cigarette of the morning, i realize i'm part of a narrative constructed for a social media post meant to criticize young leftists

fuck!

"Hey boomer! Chain emails aren't a thing anymore!" I say, pointing and shouting at the sky. Just as I do, I notice my skin outlined in the hasty MS Paint pencil markings, turning as paper-white as a wojack. The transformation crawls over my body, leaving me and my world rendered in 2D.

i come to the realization i'm a strawperson in a soyjack comic!

"I get I'm a self-aware character in a strangely dismissive political post, but what gives?" I say, the text appearing next to me in monospace font. "What point are you making??" I add, my fave probably scrunched up like that one shitty meme.

In the next panel, people walk by me, but nobody stares at me (I have airpods in). I proceed, hurriedly.

On the next page, my headmate (I'm plural) looks at me and says, "Hey, we'll look crazy if you do this regularly. Especially without airpods in." They're right, and I continue on my way to work, but I can't help but shake the fact that I'm a character in some kind of "soyjack" comic.

I nod, continuing through the Starbucks doors into my first of twelve bathroom breaks throughout the day (we're unionized). As I enter the bathroom, I see color and depth return in a flash. I only have two pronoun pins on, not twelve, and I don't even work at Starbucks!

I take a deep breath, unbound by the pacing of panel and page, the bathroom being a narrative blindspot in whatever 00s-inspired 4chan meme shit I'm a part of. Just as I'm constructing my master plan, my Apple iPhone blares out an ominous warning:

Emergency Alert: Catastrophic Meteorite Impact Imminent. Seek shelter immediately. All life on Earth at risk. This is not a drill.

The date? 2009, April 13th.

I breath a sigh of relief-- this isn't a boomer soyjack comic, I'm just a Homestuck OC! I walk out of the bathroom into the next panel, rendered in pixely black-and-white. I look down at my 12 pronoun pins, which have always been real and I have always been wearing, and smile as a meteorite the size of Texas descends, obliterating me entirely