I woke up this morning feeling a bit out of sorts. It made me concerned, in a way. I really have no reason to be out of sorts: a new house, the best mate in the Future Mrs. Wonderhorse, a job, excellent friends, and of course, Zack the Wonderdog. Then it hit me. The thing that's missing from my life.
I'm not nearly the pompous blowhard I could be.
I'm really not living up to my pompous potential. I look around, surrounded by pompous blowhards, and here I am, going around being decent. Like a schnook. Well, those days are over, friends. From now on, I'm going to go around running my mouth off, regardless if I know the facts or not. As long as I believe it, that's all that matters.
Next time I see an old lady trying to cross the intersection, I'm just going to walk right behind her, saying loudly, "Christ, lady. Can't you move that walker any faster?". That'll fix her wagon. Instead of buying the homeless guy in the park a sandwich, I'm just going to hit him in the face with a handful of nickles. Don't worry, I'm not going to let him keep the nickles. Nope, I'm going to gather them up, then give him another faceful just for good measure. Yep - smack him right in his bulbous, alchohol-infused nose.
No longer will I say, "Excuse me" or "Pardon me". Like that time I was in that buffet line, and got pushed aside by the Ben Franklin impersonator. Apparently he saw someone who he felt was more important than me, and literally pushed my out of his way to get to her. I turned to the guy next to me and said, "Did I just get shoved out of the way by Ben Franklin?". The guy simply looked at me and said, "Yep". But you know what? He got what he wanted. Apparently, when you're a founding father, or at least play one, you pretty much get free reign. Lesson learned, Mr. Franklin. Lesson learned, indeed.
From here on, I shall cut people off in traffic without using my signal. Oh, and tailgate. I'm going to tailgate the shit out of people. Yessir, I'm going to be right up on your ass, flashing my brights the whole time. Then I'm going to go to cocktail parties and brag about what a great car I drive. Who cares if it's a 1992 Ford Crapmobile. After I get done bragging about it, people are going to be seething inside, knowing that they aren't driving such a fine piece of machinery.
I'm going to get me a talk show. THAT'S going to be something really special. On it, I'm going to spout my opinions as fact and watch with glee as the unwashed sheep in the country follow me around, throwing flowers at my feet. How I will revel in putting people down who don't agree with me. It's going to be AWEsome.
It's going to be so good. I'm going to make everyone jealous as I tell you about my expensive vacations to such far-off mysterious places such as Pueblo and Sheboygan. People will sit in awe at my stories of playing marbles professionally, walking in space, and that time I discovered verbs. There was the time when I won Survivor, Project Runway, the Indy 500, and America's Top Model all in the same year. Trust me, you better hang onto your mind while you can, because when I'm done with it, it's going to be blown.
I think I've made a good decision. Of course I made a good decision, it's me. I'm simply incapable of making a bad one. Yep, I like this. A pompous blowhard's life for me. Ben Franklin better watch his ass.
Those shrimps are mine.
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