Well, here we go again. Time to put on a determined
face and spew out yet another rant about a subject I don’t really understand,
or another verbal assault on those weaker than me in a desperately obvious
attempt to bolster my ego and assuage my insecurities. Time to vent
my anger at a universe I don’t comprehend to an imagined audience who
probably have only a limited interest in my well being and find me a
vaguely amusing personality worthy of fifteen minutes of their attention
before they move on to the next internet cultural oddity, be it midgets
having sex, Turkish bachelors, or "The Superfriends" saying "wassup!"
Time to take fingers to keyboard with zombie-like zeal and perform a
task that I’ve come to anticipate with the same zest I apply to a prostate
exam.
I’m kidding folks, it’s magic every time.*
But, I dunno... it’s different today. This time I really
have nothing to say. Of course many of you are now saying, "Who
are you kidding, Wil, you NEVER have anything to say. Do you really
think you contributed anything of value in your piece on mustard?
Was the world in any way enriched by your "discussion" of
bioengineered tomatoes? Do you think anyone
really cares about your thoughts on the Teletubbies?
At best you present a blandly witty interpretation of the sort of oh-so-cynical
Buddy Bradly type personality that had its heyday in the mid-nineties
and is now fading from popularity. Cease bothering us with your whining
and either empty your cache or get off the pot!"
Well... geeze, you didn’t have to be so hard on me.
Sure, sometimes I’m overly negative and apply unreasonably high standards
to the world that I fall far short of myself, but I really thought there
was something more to all this, you know? I had no idea you found me
so... shallow. Don’t I contribute something of value to your lives?
Don’t I offer at least a breadth more understanding to this complex
world we live in?
"Oh, PUH-Leeze!" Your response rings in my
ears. "Look Wil, we can stand you when you stick to this two dimensional,
ranting town-crier personality, but when you try this sensitivity crap,
when you look for some purpose in your limited literary lamentations,
the whole thing goes belly up. No-one wants to read some simpering artiste,
whining about how nobody understands them and blah, blah, blah. That
stuff went out with Alan Alda relationship movies and John Denver ballads."
Hmph. Well, I guess if that’s all I mean to you, if
that’s all you get out of this relationship then I’ll just have to try
and stand and deliver. What would you prefer, my dear? A ten paragraph
dirge poking fun at Microsoft yuppies who try and justify their middle
class lifestyles by portraying themselves as common rabble, spouting
themes of Marx while downing their $3.00 espressos and $6.00 microbrews?
How ‘bout an indictment of West Coast drivers comparing their navigational
abilities to that of radar-less bats? Or a condemnation of the current
music scene's love affair of bland, oversaturated Latin music while
it decries bland, oversaturated country music with the same breath?
I can do it, I suppose.
But my heart's not in it right now.
(* Please note: this joke was blatantly lifted
from a Bill Hicks comedy routine, thereby showcasing even more of my
comedic unoriginality and creative depletion. If you would like to plagiarize
Bill Hick's material, go here: http://www.billhicks.com.
Wil Forbis is a
well known international playboy who lives a fast paced life attending
chic parties, performing feats of derring-do and making love to the
world's most beautiful women. Together with his partner, Scrotum-Boy,
he is making the world safe for democracy. Email - acidlogic@hotmail.comVisit Wil's web log, My So-Called Penis, and receive complete enlightenment.
