By The Mitochondria
All right, listen up you little shits. I don’t know who you are or which godforsaken corner of the Golgi apparatus you popped out of. As far as I’m concerned, anyone who passes through that phospholipid bilayer is the same to me. You have no power. I have all the power. I am the powerhouse of this cell.
Have we gotten that straight? Oh, you’re laughing. I’m not much to look at, right? The Endoplasmic Reticulum thought so too, until I roughed him up a bit. Lemme tell you - after he got all those ribosomes stuck in him? Not even a mother could love that face. I could go on. I am the powerhouse of this cell.
Go ahead, complain to the nucleus that I’m shortchanging you on ATP. You were inefficient with the sodium-potassium pump. I work 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I never stop. I never complain. You think I got time off when I had my first binary fission? I gave up that fucker the minute cytokinesis would let me. It’s not easy being a working matrilineal organelle. I’ve had to make sacrifices. I have no patience for useless things. I am the powerhouse of this cell.
If you want to survive in this place, respect the process. Do not fuck with the electron transport chain. Do not fuck with the Krebs Cycle. Do not trespass beyond the intermembrane space into the cristae. That is my sanctum. There is a natural order to things here. If you disturb it, I will shitcan your ass faster than you can say “exocytosis." I am the powerhouse of this cell.
We are not friends. There is you, there is me, and there is oxidative phosphorylation. Your existence is an insignificant blip to me. I have been here since the time of Eve, and I will be here long after you are hydrolyzed by the lysozyme. Accept this reality, and you will be happy. I am the powerhouse of this cell.
No, thylakoid pancakes are not on the meal plan. Is that gonna be a fucking problem?