Autopilot & Black Box

Apparently, he didn’t leave himself entirely. He left himself running on autopilot. It looks like him, talks like him, and even eats like him just so that nobody would know that he’s gone away.

Earlier, he inadvertently made a joke from words that started with silent Ks. He said the /k/ sound and followed it up with the rest of the words.

K-nock.

K-nowledge.

K-nife.

K-night.

His friends, for some odd reason, joined the litany of words. They offered other words that fit the pattern when he paused to think.

Then, he blurted out: ca-noe!

Everyone started laughing even though the joke wasn’t funny at all. From a third person’s perspective, I wasn’t amused. Actually, I was frustrated since I had to endure a lame follow up:

K-angaroo!

They laughed even more. And shamelessly, too, since they were waiting for the elevator with strangers.

I wanted to get out of there, but I’m trapped inside his head.

The funny thing there is that nobody suspected that it was his autopilot that’s telling the joke and laughing at it at the same time. It’s his usual act since he really is bad at telling jokes.

“If you won’t laugh at my joke, I’ll just do the laughing myself,” is what he kept on thinking to himself.

So what’s the point in telling you all this? There’s no point. It just happened, and now that I have thought about it, I’m the black box that’s with the autopilot.

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