July 11, 2011
Believe it or not, there’s one day a year where I embody the betterment of mankind.
On this day, I frolic through the proverbial with a photo of Betty White in one hand and a winning smile in the other. Birds perch on my shoulder performing Pink songs, I make people chuckle (the sound like Chopsticks on Buddha’s teeth) and I instill world peace with a single Tim Tam. And people love me (you really love me!) like a nipple twist at the World Rally.
I used to think this incarnation was my true self and the crotchety old miser the interloper. What an ignoramus, yo. When fools try to reconnect with this wondrous human the next day, they are instead met with me: Walter Matthau in drag. (Cue evil laughter.)
If we’re gonna silver line this puppy: I do get one day a year where other peoples’ kids don’t chafe me like Jerry Bruckheimer on every DVD extra ever-fucking-made.
But silver linings are for astronaut undies, my friends.
“It means, there’s a spider. on your mutherfucken head, man.”
well, australian chick, I’m maybe a worse misanthrope than you, as I don’t get even ONE day a year when the stinkin’ human race — adults AND children — don’t make me homicidal.
Crumbles and crackers. Guess it’s a sliding scale, eh? Commis (erations), yo.