The following is all true. Well, most of it. The only untrue part of this post was the part where I said “the following is all true.” Really, none of the following is true. I would say that names have been changed to protect the innocent, but I’m not good at changing names. I’ve left them as-is, so that the parties guilty of articulated transgressions may own up to their wrong-doing. I am not sure how much of this account focuses on their wrong-doing, however. I think the lion’s share of the discourse will be on my own wrong-doing. Are you as confused as I am? Good. You’re right where you’re supposed to be.
Just remember that the following is completely [un]true.
I am afflicted with an irregularly acute case of mythomania. For example, three days ago, I told my parents I was moving to Flagstaff, Arizona to sell geodes out of a shoddy trailer with my coked-out girlfriend Jeanine. In reality, I was just going to the store to get some Good ‘N Plenty. (By Good ‘N Plenty, I do mean the candy. I’m not providing you readers out there with some abstruse euphemism for something more lurid. If I meant hot sex with the local harlot, I would have said that I went to the store to score some Saran Wrap and frozen pizzas.) Three weeks ago, I told a girl at work that I wanted her to have my baby. She sat there, dumbfounded at my open honesty. Seconds ticked by. Those seconds mounted into minutes. Those minutes decided they liked being seconds better and reverted back. Finally, she spoke, her cherubic mouth carefully moving, choosing just the right words, “Okay, so when do we start?”
(Heh! If only the above were true! Good N’ Plenty is excellent candy.)
What else can I confess? Let’s see…
I am a nerd. I have come to realize it after years of denial of my nerdish leanings and tendencies. I’m now resigned to take up residence in Nerdville Heights, suburb of Dweeb City, capitol of Nerbania. How am I nerd? Well, for starters, I like to read. I don’t read because Kerry says to or because the teacher assigned it. I read because I like reading. Moreover, I am an avid player of video games. In fact, several hours each week are dedicated to “jumping over pennies,” as my father once put it so eloquently. What else qualifies me as a nerd? Well, I think simply avowing one’s nerdship make one a nerd. This is not to say that I don’t enjoy being of a higher intellect than my more ovine or boorish counterparts, but as the aphorism goes, “ignorance is bliss.” I would much rather furrow my brow and attach inappropriate symbols to life in some vain attempt to understand something as grand as existence. Rather, I’m cursed with knowledge. I hate using Incubus [They are SO 1999. Morning View? More like Morning P-U. (Christ, that was lame. If there was a crime against lameness, I am certainly now the most wanted criminal because of that one statement. Anyway, where was I? Ah yes…)] as a reference, but it’s “strange that a gift could be an enemy.” To be of the earth, that is my greatest desire! To know nothing! To be witless! These things would guarantee me the one thing I have yet to procure: absolute freedom from worry or fear. Oh well. I know what I know, and apparently you never forget. Not naturally at least. If cartoons have taught me anything, all I need is a good wallop on the head to inflict selective amnesia– the kind of amnesia where I forget facts about my life, not that kind where I forget how to use the bathroom and bathe myself.
Alright, well, half of this confession was true. The other half was slightly exaggerated for dramatic effect. Speaking of dramatization, be sure to check out the [sarcasm]JESSICA LYNCH STORY: TRUE AMERICAN HERO.[/sarcasm] I mean, WTF!!! Jessica goes to Iraq to fight some cockamamie war. The chick gets captured. She passes out. She comes to. Her captors may have raped her, she can’t remember! She’s such an American Hero! Anything else you care to feed your phocidic public, President Bush, et al.? Give us a fish and watch us slap our fins together! Well, some of us. One seal is already sick of the tripe.
Anyway, enough ranting. I think it’s time for sleep.
–Post over, Mikey out.