I've never been convicted for any of my crimes against humanity. I hold two degrees; one in separation anxiety, and another in Preestablished Psychological Whatever, both from The University of Icarus Online. I've been around the world, worked in a chocolate factory, bumped and grinded, believed I could fly, but have never been trapped in a closet. I sneak self-esteem across my borderline personality disorder using animal balloons. I just learned how to make an animal balloon shaped like jello running a marathon down the legs of Tina Turner as she rolls down the River Styx. Would you like one?
I taught myself to type by watching orangutans pick nits off each other. I learned to nitpick by watching a million simians type Mark Twain's Letters to the Earth. I've written the suicide notes of Kurt Cobain, Jerzy Kosinski, Jonathan Brandis, David Kelley, Hunter S. Thompson, and other celebrities the government had killed to protect their secrets. I also wrote every poem attributed to Sylvia Plath, Robert Lowell, and Anne Sexton.
I can work time and a half in half the time, and only take sick days when my tuberculosis acts up. I have the sort of can do attitude that makes even cheerleaders and flight attendants nauseous. I smile so much, my mouth was inducted into the Aryan Nation. Dear Abby used to call me every day for advice, until she misquoted me a few years ago and I told her to drop dead. I haven't heard from her since.
Carley Simon's "You're So Vain" is actually about me. So are Mariah Carey's "Hero", Debbie Boon's "You Light Up My Life", and Frank Zappa's "Why Does It Hurt When I Pee?".
I told Webster his dictionary would sell better if he alphabetized the words instead of organizing them by which ones he liked best. I taught Robin Williams how to act, Gregory Hines how to tapdance, and your mom how to suck dick.
I speak Braille, and hieroglyphs. I put the bop in the bop shoo bop shoo bop, the ram in the rama lama ding dong, and the po in impotent. I'm your daddy. I can get satisfaction, I just choose not to.