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I hate surprises. No, I really do hate surprises. The last time someone surprised me I nearly…

…destroyed the planet.

You think I’m joking? I’m not. I’m dead serious. It was almost a very bad, most awful day for the entirety of humanity.

Let me explain.

I was born with a rare mutation that only one percent of one percent of people in this day and age are ever born with: superpowers. My own super power is kind of lame by most standards. You see, I have the ability to affect my surroundings with my voice.

Whenever my emotions tilt a certain direction and I speak out loud, weird things happen. For example, if I’m happy and I start singing a Marvin Gaye song, flowers will start growing and plants bloom. I don’t know why, but it’s only with Marvin Gaye songs. Songs by Stevie Wonder or Al Green don’t do it; no it’s only when firing up “Let’s Get It On” or “Sexual Healing” that the plants really get down and grow. I think it’s a weird floral sex thing.

If I’m in a bad mood and sing “Ride of the Valkyries” but only Elmer Fudd’s rendition with the lyrics of “Kill the Wabbit” the weather will go from whatever it is (sunny, cloudy, whatever) to instantly raining. It comes in handy during droughts, for sure.

The problem came when I turned twenty-five. My friends thought it would be a great idea to throw a surprise party, knowing full and well that I can get a bit… explodey… when surprised. Because when I am scared, I instinctively start singing the chorus to “Cruel Summer” by Bananarama (hey! Don’t judge me!). And that’s when the explosions start. The more surprised I am, and the better my vocals get, the bigger the booms.

So when my friends all jumped out and yelled out, “SURPRISE!” I hit the floor in shock and awe, and started mumble-singing, “It’s a cruel, cruel summer, leaving me here on my–”

The cake they so meticulously prepared for me and brought out on a platter exploded into thousands of small cake shrapnel, covering everyone and everything in icing, fondant, and cake. That caused a chain reaction of startled fear in me and I began singing the next refrain, but fortunately my best friend Charlie tackled me and covered my mouth just in time as a POP! POP! POP! Was heard from across the street. I still don’t know what that was.

With my mouth covered the crisis was averted, and I saw what was going on clearly now. We all laughed, which triggered me to start singing the old Benny Bell song from the 1940’s, “Shaving Cream”. You don’t want to know what happened, but it caused a huge fit. You might say we were covered in big piles of… shaving cream! Be nice and clean! Shave every day and you’ll always look keen.