So I have received a few messages on the seamy nature of my past few posts, and I will admit they were in bad taste. I will have you know, however, that yesterday’s lurid tale of a goat, his lover, and his semen came from the mouth of Hollywood heartthrob, and current star of The Wedding Planner, Matthew McConoughey. Not me. But onto today’s brief tale of confusion…
The other day, I went to the doctor to complain about the overwhelming lack of “foxiness” I had been experiencing lately. He suggested that it was probably due to my newly formed habit of adopting those helpless Bolivian kids and forcing them to make wool socks for me. I conceded that this was one of my vices, and I asked for a prescription to help prevent me from doing such. He looked at me incredulously, and he asked what drug can possibly keep me from dialing the phone and sponsoring one of those needy orphans. I stared back, and calmly answered, “Well, there’s heroin.” After all, I can’t afford a phone when I am strung out of my gourd on smack.*
*This is not condoning smack addicts; quite the opposite. Those lousy, good-for-nothings should stop shooting up in vain and try adopting one of those poor kids; they can do wonders with a mop.**
**Please note that I am not condoning the misuse of children; quite the opposite. We need to reach out and help those less fortunate than us.