Confusion 12

PROFILES IN CONFUSION 12

Best of Volume Three

2007-2008

That’s not the way I draw princesses. I learned to draw princesses different from the way you draw them. You can draw princesses that way if you want, but I’m going to draw them the way I learned. There’s nothing wrong with the way you draw princesses. It’s just that the way I draw them is different. Very different.

I know I’m a cutey pie. I don’t need the likes of you telling me I’m a cutey pie. I need someone over eighteen to step up to the plate and buy me some liquor.

Is this your basket of hair? I’m asking because it looks a lot like my basket of hair. The bad light in here makes these clippings look a shade or two darker than my hair color, but outdoors it could be a whole other story. I’m just checking around the room—asking people. Don’t want to be presumptuous in walking off with this.

I only pretend to lock the door, because I only pretend to have a key. You see, I only pretend to live here. I only pretend to park my car in the driveway and only pretend to get out. It’s subtle, but it works. If you pretend it works, it works.

They made Ripley a smoker in Aliens because they needed her to have a cigarette lighter in her pocket so she could set off the fire alarm in Med Lab and her and Newt could be saved from the face-hugger aliens. When I play Ripley in the backyard, however, I make her a nonsmoker. Because I believe Ripley is a role model for kids like me, and role models shouldn’t smoke.

I didn’t invite squirrels to share my bloomers. Don’t know how it started. Squirrels are generally skittish round folk. You say, “jump!” and your average squirrel says, “how high?” Can’t figure it out. Ain’t no nuts in my bloomers. I’m allergic to nuts. Nuts and red Jell-O. Put nuts in red Jell-O and you might as well fit me for a pine box.

I saw him in a public bathroom. That guy who played that mean guy in that movie. You know the guy—that son of a @#$%# who did that horrible thing. Can’t remember the name of the film. Can’t remember exactly what he did. But I let him have it up side the head with the wastepaper can while his back was turned at the urinal. I wish I could remember the name of the movie, though, ‘coz I really let this guy have it. You can only appreciate how righteous this butt wuppin’ was if you remember that film.

If you were an elevator, you would only bring people down. If you were a fitness gym, you would only make people run. If you were a cab driver in Athens, you would only leave people in ruins. If you were…

What care I where the big hand and the little hand are, half-pint? If the big hand and the little hand should jump down off the clock and slap you about, it would be too good for you. If the big hand and the little hand should lock you in the closet and throw away the key, it would be no more than you deserve. I, Internal-Organs-On-The-Outside Squarepants, care nothing for time telling. I, Internal-Organs-On-The-Outside Squarepants, give not a hoot for tinker toys or Velcro-fastening nursing bras. You obviously have Internal-Organs-On-The-Outside Squarepants confused with someone who cares!

Okay. So here’s the deal. I can’t wear a tie, anyway, because of the medicine I’m taking. The doctor told me to stay away from wearing a tie. And it’s on the bottle, anyway: about not wearing a tie. And that, plus what the doctor said, pretty much explains the whole deal.

I’m just the lockup guy. I just lock up the building when everybody leaves. Don’t know where the cash till is. Don’t know where all the boxes of Christmas decorations go in January. Don’t know nothing about sick building syndrome or why some of the fire exits are blocked and some aren’t. I just lock up the building. I’m the lockup guy.

First you sign the donor organ box on your driver’s license, and then you wind up with four extra digits on your zip code and ten fewer digits on your wrists!

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