The Corpse Corps
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I come from a simpler time. Arkansas. A place where lawn darts were legal and I had a pair of glasses that turned into sunglasses when it got bright out. I was a skinny nobody with a Mad Magazine subscription until I tongue kissed Kendra Bickel in the fifth grade at my local roller rink during an all night "lock-in". I then reclassified myself a "ladies man". People say I have a big butt, and I say poppycock. Feel it for yourelf if you don't believe me. Wait, hold on.. o.k.. now. I will never eat a pancake and I stand by that. I believe that "globetrekking" is for dullards who underestimate familiarity, and old people are funny and sad, in that order. I like to think of myself as a sort of wordsmith, and I think it shoes. I was lonely and pale for a few years, until I finally got off that damned oil rig. Leathernecks! I've tried my hand at being an entrepeneur by trying to start a professional "beachball" league, but could not find sponsors, nor a calm, still place where the natural environment wouldn't be a factor. I then settled for NASCAR. Not the automobile racing, but the "National Scar Society". I modeled it after the Iron-Man contests, but with more scars and scarring. The secret to being competitive is to simply ignore most life threatening cuts and gashes. "Don't treat 'em and you will beat em'". Lately, I just nap, binge, purge, and spoon. I am currently in a vicious laundry cycle. Next time you see me, I'll have dropped 40 pounds. After careful consideration and a mild soul search, I have concluded that there is no such thing as "America's Funniest Mom". I love you- Jim.
