June 12, 2002

Today is the day to pretend to be somebody else.

Anybody catch "American Idol" last night? If you did and have comments, email me. If I get enough emails I'll post them for "American Idol" forum tomorrow. I will decide who is right and wrong: I will be the mediator. This will not be a regular occurrence, I promise. And, if I don't get any responses, I'll just write the same ol' crap I always do.

7

George Foreman hated leaving the house. He liked to think it was because he didn't like being amongst the hoi polloi, and that might be true in part, but really, it was because it was he was ashamed of the way that he looked. As he rightly should be. He was a horrible sight.

But George had to go out, though, because Lillibet was going to try and help him figure out what was going on in his life; why he was suffering from writer's block and why everybody else, even those who supposedly had no reason to suffer from writers' block, weren't. Does that make any sense? Everybody was writing but him.

Anyway, George, being as rich as he was, owned about four or five fancy cars but rarely chose to drive them. Not because he was a bad driver. Not because Washington DC traffic is some of the most hellish on earth. Why?

He liked to think it was because he was saving an investment, or that taking public transportation was a better way to study society, but in reality, it was the self-esteem thing again. Deep down he felt ashamed that he, such a miserable specimen of physical humanity, would make his cars look bad by driving them.

But that is beside the point. Really. George is most likely not going to a.) shape up and clean up or b.) become a nice person. So, that it's really only an aside.

Anyway, on a plus side, (thus showing his honest, nasty personality), George truly enjoyed the discomfort he inflicted upon the general public with his presence. His unattractiveness, his slight smell, his constant noisy snorting in derision, the eternal smirk of ridicule and the occasional sarcastic and critical "Oh my God," under his breath at his worst victims, all created a pretty repellant package.

So George took the bus today to go meet Lillibet, his equally matched ex-girlfriend.

On the way he observed a fellow busrider, a man who wore a sticker on his shirt that said "Be Nice To Me: I Gave Blood Today."

George had to restrain himself from going up to the man and requesting that he remove such a ridiculous symbol of such a ridiculous request.

Be Nice to Me? Because I Gave Blood?

George was not so awful as to underappreciate the value of community service, just so long as he was not the one performing it. No, he just found the concept of requesting that the world be nice to one person in particular a touch egotistical. Like the world is going to stop and be nice to you just because you sat for a 20 minutes and simply bled while you ate some cookies, George thought. He entertained himself thinking of other such requests.

"Kindly Keep It Down: I Drank Too Much Last Night."
"Please Tell Me I'm Pretty: I Feel Fat."
"Babysit My Children: I Have Tickets to the Opera."
"Tell Me a Joke: I'm Bored."
"Please Give Me Money: I'm Homeless."

George suddenly realized that the last one was one that he had seen before, and grew a touch annoyed, as he thought how the homeless had ruined such a good and particularly clever reverie.

Fortunately, he did not have time to dwell upon it as much as the bus let him off at his stop and he could see Lillibet waiting inside the restaurant for him.