Dear Diary

Dear Diary,

I saved the world today, and it felt good.

I woke up at 8am with birds chirping from somewhere near my window, stretched, went downstairs and grabbed myself some toast. The newspaper was already next to the cup of coffee my reliable housekeeper had made me. On the front page was Obama's picture, just like yesterday and the day before that.

I was reading my horoscope when it happened.

A raspy voice was cackling with glee. The hair on my nape stood and I paused, listening carefully. The voice was muttering to himself, in a sinister way.

"Red wire, white wire... 10 minutes will do. The MRT will be nothing but ashes. Ahh. Burnt corpses. Singed hair. Lovely. Good thing Ayala station is always overpopulated."

Everything happened in a flash. Or so it would seem to other people. For me, it's all in a day's work: ripping my "normal" clothes off my body (I can always go out and buy more clothes), running outside the house so I won't have to ruin my roof when I go while tugging on my super strength missile-proof skimpy black and red ensemble (yes, you'd call it costume or uniform or whathaveyou, I'd call it ensemble) and matching cape and mask (oh, and my knee-high boots of course!), staring up at the clear blue sky and zoom, zoom, zooming away to the scene of trouble.

I got to Ayala station even before the bastard finished taping the bomb onto one of the toilet bowls in the men's room. Just one quick kick was enough to do the job. Off to Mongolia he went. I wasn't too sure if he was conscious during his surprise flight but I sure hope he wasn't. It's always great to wake up in a different country altogether, without a clue as to what had happened hours, days, months, years (it depends on the force of the kick) ago. And of course, it's funny to think about the bastard's reaction when he finds out he wasn't in the Philippines anymore.

So I got down to business and carefully removed the unfinished bomb from the bowl. Phew! It stinks in the men's cr! Pigs.

There was no more need to look for some planet far, far away where I can detonate the bomb. My super zapping vanisher (low - power) was just right for that amateur bomb. One *pop* and, voila!, Makati was safe again.

In a flash, I was back at my breakfast table, my ensemble nowhere to be seen, and in its place was a blue and white polka dot pajama pair. Sipping my coffee, I started to read my horoscope in its entirety.

I saved the world today, and it felt good. It always does everyday.


SuperMe