I never said you’d always be happy.
I never promised they’d all be good days, that I’d never
run out of stuff to say to make you laugh, wherever, whenever. I never claimed I
didn’t sometimes cry the ‘tears of a clown’.
I never promised you a rose garden. I never talked with
my mouth full, walked across the floor you’d just mopped, got up on the furniture or
cracked my knuckles at just ‘that moment’ in church. I never disappeared
into the desert on a six day bender with Sherman Helmsley, and when I
didn’t do that I sure as hell never woke up with a hangover Jesus
couldn’t have risen from, and there was no inexplicable tattoo of
‘Twinkie the Kid’ on my left butt cheek with a word balloon saying "I
got your cream filling right here, Sailor."
Never promised to change, never called you and hung up
the moment you answered sixteen consecutive times in the ‘wee hours’, never ‘danced’
with the ‘devil’ in the ‘pale moonlight’.
I never for an instant was ‘funky’ or ‘fresh’ or ‘phat’
or ‘down’ with anything and if you thought I was, well that was just you reading
something into my character that wasn’t there, I suppose. Never crouched
behind Michael Dukakis in that Tank doing who knows what all, didn’t go
to the Package Store for Jenna Bush, was not a ‘charter member’ of the
‘Justice League of America' and if nominated I will not run, if elected
I will not serve.
It may have looked like me in that orange jump suit
chained to eight other guys picking up trash by the side of the road, but a lot of people
look like me, I’ve got ‘that kind of face’ and I never stood you up for
the senior prom or the junior prom or any prom at all. If I’d stood up
all the god damn crazy bastards for every lousy prom they said I did I’d
never have had five seconds to go to school and I never sold anything to
kids on your playground, that was my cousin.
The boys will vouch I was playing poker when the deal
went down, I don’t know how to fly a helicopter, and you know what? You’ve got a lot of
nerve. If, and I say ‘If’ I thought it was in the national interest to
destabilize a South American country I’d write a letter to my congressman and to be honest I don’t know who the hell
he is and that picture of him in a Girl Scout uniform holding a tub of Vaseline brand
petroleum Jelly next to an Orangutan in an Iron lung? Didn’t take it,
all I got’s a point and shoot, couldn’t get the F stop open far enough
for that kind of action shot.
And here’s the thing, what business is it of yours? Is
there some reason you save my emails, record my phone conversations, collect my trash like
all I threw away was Hummels, document every aspect of my life like I’m
the reanimated corpse of Princess Diana, have a restraining order
against me? Are you stalking me?
Because while my backyard may not be full of bodies and
the Lindbergh Baby is not in my crisper, while you won’t find a detailed map that when
washed in lemon juice and held under ultraviolet light would not in any
way reveal what when reassembled and compared with dental records
would not prove to be the better part of Jimmy Hoffa’s mandible, I am still
not a man to be trifled with. It’s been said I have a ‘short fuse’ but
that’s slander and actionable if you believe my lawyer. It’s not like
I’m the kind of guy who bought an engraving tool and took engraving
lesson just so he could engrave his ‘enemies list’ on the individual
bullets that line his mantel. I don’t hold a grudge and anyone that says
I do had better watch their god damn back for the rest of their lives or
at least the rest of mine and when you read my obituary you can rest
easy friend, ‘cause I’m sure as hell not one to fake his own death just
to lull the people on his ‘enemies list’ into complacency. That guy
who’s rented ‘Cape Fear’ from the local video store 325 of the last
365 days? Not me, my friend. Just some fella with the same name.
I never told you I was the Duke of Parma. That was meant
as a parable and I assure you, I will never again speak to you with that degree of
multi leveled sophistication, I wouldn’t take that risk. If I had any
dreaming notion whatsoever you wouldn’t have realized I was being ironic
when I spoke of a ‘trust fund’ I doubt I’d have gone on dating you. And
yes, it’s true, I may have implied that I had ‘prospects’ involving an
‘inheritance’ upon the ‘death’ of a ‘drug kingpin’ I think we can both
agree you encouraged me, you did, you’re an enabler and you always have
And yes, I am too blame for a lot of things, I never
said I was a saint, but here’s a short list of the things you can’t pin on me. The
eradication of the Neanderthal, the Babylonian Captivity, the Crusades,
the Spanish Inquisition, the Holocaust, and forgetting to buy the damn
The sour cream wasn’t on the shopping list. I wish I’d
saved it, I do, from now on I will so when you accuse me of not buying sour cream I can
show you the list and you’ll see how wrong you were and be sorry. I’d
have known if sour cream was on the damn list because I don’t eat it so
it would have stood out. If you’re a sour cream junky with the cold
sweats from a prolonged lack of sour cream you should do the shopping
yourself, I never said I was your sour cream connection. I can’t
take that kind of pressure, okay?
your own damned Sour Cream!
Oh is that the list? Was it in my pocket? When you did
the laundry? Really? Well, look, lets be adult about this, I never said I might not
have been mistaken, I don’t see any need to check it, I mean, you know,
in the grand scheme does it really matter who wrote what on some sheet
of paper or another? And might that not well be an old list? From the
last time I went shopping? When I did buy sour cream? I did. I did. You
put a mountain of it on your god damned baked potato, where the hell
did you think it came from, the sour cream fairy? Jesus!
Look, what say we just agree to disagree? Hey did I
mention I got fired last week?
note: For those of you who are
wondering, yes, Max Burbank has fallen off the deep end. But he
swears it's not his fault.