Mods!

with sincere apologies to J.W. Yablonsky

Mods, shine a ray of sun into his eyes.

Mods, have him check the time.

Mods, provide him his second-least wrinkly dress shirt.

Mods, slightly undertoast his toast.

Mods, wait until he is within eyesight of the bus stop, and then have the bus pull away.

Mods, delay the next bus by ten minutes.

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Mods, guide him to the coffee shop near the office.

Mods, have that cute barista smile at him.

Mods, present him with a visual of her walking down the aisle.

Mods, parch his throat so that he has to cough before talking to her.

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Mods, send him a mandatory security training.

Mods, ask him to present at the next all-hands.

Mods, inquire about the status of his deliverables.

Mods, deliver him an email that requires an immediate response seven minutes into his lunch break.

Mods, have his newer coworker ask him a question he is not qualified to answer.

Mods, remind him to log his time.

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Mods, occupy all the benches at the gym.

Mods, remove every dumbbell between 15 and 50 pounds from the rack.

Mods, remind him that it is socially unacceptable to crash out because all the benches and dumbbells are taken.

Mods, relegate him to the mat area.

Mods, deliver a pang of guilt for getting momentarily distracted by that girl’s ass.

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Mods, open his Steam library.

Mods, present only games that he does not want to play.

Mods, have him scroll on his phone.

Mods, induce a sense of panic that he has wasted his afternoon.

Mods, make his bed look inviting.

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Mods, set the sun below the horizon.

Mods, make him suddenly aware of his own mortality.

Mods, grant him strength and determination.

Mods, make him dream of more.