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Effortlessly Average

Sort of half-heartedly leading the charge into mediocrity since, oh, let's say around 1987 or so.

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Location: Roaming (additional charges may apply), Argentina

Proof that with internet access and a powerful laxative, even insipid people will blog; the place where your excellence and my mediocrity collide; where my Karma whips ass on your dogma.

Friday, November 09, 2007

Rumors in the Air

Ok, back the ice cream truck up.

There's been a nasty rumor going around lately that I'm actually *GASP!* a nice guy. The hell?! Where did this come from? Here I take the good time and trouble to spread wickedness wherever I go and for what? To be called "nice?" I'm not nice. I'm a total bastard. Ask... well, many people! They'll tell you: "he's a total bastard!" I may not be as funny as Dyck or as mysterious as Fingers, but c'mon, throw me a bone here.

Haven't I sold children into slavery?

Haven't I fostered war in Sierra Leone in an attempt to corner the blood diamond market?

Wasn't it I who suggested Donald Trump fly in the face of conventional comb-over wisdom to pioneer the world's first comb-forward?

And who, my friends, do you think is responsible for the whole "combined name" craze (Beniffer, Branjelina, TomKat, Vaughniston)? Me, baby. ME!

When Saddam needed a solutuion to his "Kurdish" problem, did he go to Allah? Or Lybia? Or the United Nations? Or even Russia for crying out loud? NO! He came to me. And I said "give 'em gas!" Well, ok, that may have been a misunderstanding since what I actually meant was that he should promote lethargy through Taco Bell Grande burritos and 24-hour E! network broadcasting and that would make his opponents feel bloated and sluggish and unable to stir up trouble. He thought I meant Agent Orange. My bad.

And for the love of all that is holey do you people have any idea how much Nappy Light I had to produce to convince the Big JC to let fundamental evangelicalism remain?

Let's look at a list of some of my accomplishments:

Jumping the couch. Mine. Tom was looking for a means of expression to take everyone's mind off the fact that he's just another total Scientology nutjob. Seems to me it worked. BTW, who do you think turned L. Ron Hubbard, a so-so sci fi writer, into the guru of so-called religious cults in the first place? Ok, so I was, like, 4 years old when it really got going, but hey, I peaked early.

Then there's Carrot Top. Yeah, 'nuff said. Me.

Who do you think keeps getting Kevin Federline gigs?

Or keeps to himself the volumes of sex tapes of Jessica Simpson, Jennifer Love Hewett, and David Beckham? Ok, I don't care much for the Beckham stuff, but still, it would be "nice" to let others (aka, the screaming women of the world) enjoy it, and I'm not one to be "nice" even when it suits me.

Who do you think is responsible for that little piece of spittle you get in the corner of your mouth when it's really dry?

Or that damned Crazy Frog? Christ, that thing's so annoying that even I can't take much more of it.

Do you think Achy Breaky Heart was an accident?

I've worked long and hard to ensure every annoying movie goer has a cell phone.

In every restaurant I visit, I make sure to bend one of the fork tines out of place.

Every time I visit a public rest room I remove all but the last ten squares of toilet paper from the stalls.

And speaking of restroom functions, who do you think makes the road bumpy when you have to pee really badly?

And do you have any idea how much vodka and asparagus I have to consume in order to leave that unique smell in every gas station restroom in the U.S.?

Who do you suppose wrote Bush's text on speech vernacular? I can tell you it's not easy inventing words like "presidenting" and "misunderestimated."

I have to work long and hard to generate the volume required to keep those "send this to 10 people or you're a heartless bastard" chain mails going. It's not easy to write those in such a way as to give you both the feeling that they're fake, but not enough of a feeling that you won't still say "but what if..." and send it along anyway.

I mean c'mon, a guy goes out of his way to be a total prick and STILL ... What do I have to do, kick a puppy? Have a love child with Karla? Lead a nation into a war on false pretenses?

All my life I've tried to be the bad boy. I've gone out of my way for crying out loud. But do I get credit? No. I get called a "nice guy."

The point is people, that I work long and hard at cultivating my "dick" status. And it's served me well mostly. But I'm still misunderstood. I am forever plagued with the insinuation that I'm a nice guy no matter how many black market babies I supply to Michael Jackson or Arab children I send to Dick Cheney for his "Soulless Whites for World Domination" monthly human sacrifice meetings. I swear I'd have been struck down by God Himself already if Satan hadn't brokered a deal to keep me on Earth out of fear of my trying to introduce Karaoke and Fondue night in Hell.
So let me set the record straight: I'm clearly not a nice guy. 246 women and their husbands/boyfriends have come to that conclusion, and so should you. You don't want a man like me, ladies! C'mon! I cook! I kill bugs! I love children (they taste like chicken)! I'm casual, friendly, funny, way intelligent, and I clean up nicely, but we all know that's just an act; an image people! Something I use to score dates; I should be the only entry on
dontdatehimgirl.

And guys, don't think you should foster any ideas of buddydom with this hellspawn. I'll drink with you. I might help you fix your car or build an addition onto your house. I'll help you move when no one else will. I'll even loan you money. But we all know that I don't really mean it: I only want your last beer or to see your wife/girlfriend naked.

So the next time you feel like calling me "nice," just remember: I introduced the Macarena once, and I'll bring it back if I have to.

Sincerely,
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Liked

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