Barnaby Binx: A Magnet for Misfortune

Barnaby Binx wasn't born under a bad sign; he was born *as* the bad sign, then the sign fell on the midwife. His life was a meticulously curated exhibition of misfortune. Today, however, Barnaby was determined. "No," he declared to his reflection, which promptly shattered. "Today, I defy you, cruel fate!"

He decided on a simple, risk-averse agenda: coffee, toast, and a quiet read. The coffee machine sputtered, launching a scalding stream *into* his left eye. The toast, upon contact with the toaster, spontaneously combusted, leaving a perfect, carbonized silhouette of his own face. "Fair enough," Barnaby mumbled, dabbing his eye with a flaming piece of bread.

He retreated to the living room, seeking solace in a crossword. As he pondered "An eight-letter word for 'unmitigated disaster'," a rogue pigeon, somehow defying physics, flew *through* his hermetically sealed window, bounced off his forehead, and then, with a final, aggrieved squawk, *exploded*. Barnaby now had feathers, shattered glass, and faint avian viscera decorating his new sweater.

Undeterred, he grabbed a broom to sweep the avian remains. The broom's head flew off, ricocheted off the ceiling fan (which inexplicably switched on), and struck him square in the groin. He doubled over just as his antique grandfather clock, which had been perfectly stable for 70 years, decided this was the moment to perform a dramatic, slow-motion collapse, pinning his leg.

"Well," Barnaby wheezed, "at least it's only Tuesday." Just then, the smoke alarm, long dormant, sprang to life with a deafening shriek, not because of fire, but apparently just to mock him. A single, perfectly aimed raindrop then seeped through the ceiling, landed precisely on the alarm's battery compartment, and caused it to short-circuit, showering him in sparks.

He was still pinned when the fire department arrived, having been called by a concerned (and very confused) neighbor who reported smoke, explosions, and the distinct smell of burnt bird. "Rough day, buddy?" asked a fireman, helping Barnaby up. Barnaby just sighed. "You have no idea. By the way, is that your ladder wobbling?" The fireman looked up, just as the ladder gave way, sending a cascade of equipment — and the fireman — tumbling onto Barnaby.

Barnaby closed his eyes. At least he was finally horizontal.