To better explain my occasional (okay, often) skeptical view of life, I’ll explore a few things that contribute to the dank mirage of life.

CELL PHONES

Hi. I’m a person of little or no standing in my community, yet I walk around with this stupid thing strapped in my ear, resembling a stripped-down Borg drone assimilating to another ridiculous and “innovative” fad. I am so busy throughout my day that I don’t have the extra 4 seconds to reach into my pocket or my handy belt clip to grab my phone and lift it to the side of my head to converse like the rest of you dinosaurs. No way, that’s for losers and I’m anything but that, just look at my ragged jeans and stretched out, stained t-shirt. That’s right, I’m so busy I don’t even have time to dress appropriately in clean, tailored clothes. Nor do I care, because I have a phone in my ear. So what if it appears I’m wandering around aimlessly talking to myself; I’m handling important business, like rehashing last night at the bar when I drank 11 Budweisers and puked on myself, discussing the finer points of Dale Junior’s latest race, and how hot I think Pamela Anderson (Lee) (Richie) (Soloman) (Anderson, whatever...) is. The point is, you are primitive and I am better than you. Ha, I bet you still listen to music on CD, caveman! 

KOBE BRYANT

What’s up. I’m Kobe Bryant, multi-millionaire, MVP, all-star NBA shooting guard, adulterer, and accused rapist. Kids all over the world have posters of me plastered on their walls doing various athletic, bad-ass poses. Lakers fans worship me, because I’m the chosen one to carry the team to triumph in the the finals, where I can win a big shiny trophy, piles of money, endorsement deals, diamonds, cars, admiration from fans across the world (especially hot women that I am not married to) and plenty of other neat things. I am one of the most complete and skilled basketball players to ever play the game, so that gives me the right to be selfish and complain incessantly. Yeah, I might act like a diva, but I’m Kobe Bryant and you’re not. You’re just some low-rent hack that watches me score a sick amount of points and totally POWN other players on TV. I can cheat on my wife and purchase her forgiveness by way of a six million dollar Lamborghini with converted automatic transmission, made special just for her. I have power. I have money. Jack Nicholson gives me the thumbs-up. I can get away with pretty much anything, and you can’t.

Hello there, I’m here to look at all of the neat products you’ve got for sale--hell, I might even buy something! But first, I’d rather fondle 90 percent of your merchandise, even if it doesn’t interest me or I can’t afford it. I just like to touch things because I’m so curious. Everything is organized and faced so neatly on shelves and fixtures; boy, you guys really did a fantastic job merchandising. All the shirts are even folded exactly the same! That must have taken a lot of time and effort. It’s too bad people like me come through and mess everything up. It’s just so hard for me to pick something up and put it back appropriately where it belongs. I find it easier to throw it on the floor, or rip the package apart so no one else will buy it, then throw it on the floor. Sometimes I’ll pick something up and hold on to it because I think I might want it, and then I’ll set it down in another area of the store because I decide I really don’t need it. I’m just too lazy to walk a few steps and put it back in the correct department. No worries though, I see you standing there, salesperson, so I’ll just assume you can put it back in the correct place for me. After all, that’s your job right? I enter your store, browse around and tear up your departments like a rabid 4 year-old jacked up on Pixie Sticks and leave everything scattered about for you to pick up. Sometimes I even go into your restroom and lose control of my bodily functions on your toilets, walls and mirrors.....I don’t know how it happens either! Once I even crapped my pants, so I just left my mud-caked drawers right there on the floor for you to scoop up with a shovel and dispose of. I felt kind of bad about that, but it was just so gross--it almost made me puke!  I knew you would take care of it though, most likely with a smile on your face, because in America, customer service is KING.

R. KELLY

ACQUITTED! That’s right bros and hoes, I, Robert Sylvester Kelly, don’t see nothing wrong with a little bump n’ grind...even if it is with “alleged” underage girls! Six long years of scrutiny, twenty-one counts of sexual intercourse with a minor and soliciting a minor for child pornography can’t keep me trapped in the closet, or a jail cell! Suckers! Damn, I am smooth. So what if I briefly married Aaliyah when she was 15, I am a legend. I’ve even compared myself to Muhammad Ali, Marin Gaye and Martin Luther King, because they were great and so am I. I craft fire R&B that makes GIRLS melt, so much so, that sometimes I’m forced to hose them down! Freedom!

And that’s just four putrid things; barely enough to brush off the tip of the colossal crap-berg plowing mercilessly through the sea of life, churning wretchedness and irreversibly polluting the earth. There are loads more, which I might divulge in the future. Cheers!