I was born in the slums, but then I won the Ghetto Princess Pageant, and now I star in ads for Walgreens’ Hair Curling Potion. Here on the display table I have set my George Foreman Panini Press. We’re going to make ourselves some pork.
The proper way to consume a hotdog is to hold the bun before your face and slowly suck the frankfurter out while staring at the sun.
The reason I’m so good at life is that I was made from entirely metal parts. This allows me to transform into Peter Pan and back again. So I possess eternal youth whenever it’s convenient, but I’m still able to work as a pirate.
My father was a snow blower, and my mother was a shovel. Most of my actual childhood was spent sealed inside a transparent plastic globe, which was just big enough for me to stand up in.
This morning I had to trespass across your estate in order to retrieve my dominant hand, which I had accidentally chopped off. In the process, I trampled down a lot of your crops. This is, I guess, why you got the police involved. I spent the whole afternoon on the run — that’s why we’re starting a little late, this evening. So let’s get right to it:
Tonight’s main speaker is my firstborn son, Gorgias. He’s going to read from my casebook for a few minutes; then we’ll have about an hour for Q&A, during which time we can all try to persuade the lad to violate his Law School’s honor code. That should be fun.
Before we begin, however, I’d like to show you this hat that I contrived from the pelt of a squirrel. (Don’t worry — I didn’t slay the creature myself: I just found him in the road.)
Also, can you see this item that I’m holding up, right here? This is my Logitech marble mouse: this little troublemaker found his way into my neighbor’s home office, while she was working, just last week, and he secretly snuck up inside her blouse. I had to come over there and fetch him back, which required a lot of explaining to my astonished neighbor. “Yes, it’s a corded mouse made entirely of marble, but it possesses the breath of life, so it doesn’t need to remain plugged in. The cord serves as its tail.” — The woman was mercifully understanding. In fact, when I moved to leave, as a token of good-neighborliness, she offered me a stack of 8-by-10 photos of herself au naturel. “These are great,” I said, flipping through them carefully while standing at the door. “You really think so?” she said. Then she asked in a bashful manner: “Are you against unsafe sex?” I answered: “No, on the contrary: I’m all for practicing unsafe sex.” So then she drew me back away from the door and led me to her laundry room, where we engaged in unsafe sex. Following which, since my clothes were all torn up, she offered me her husband’s camouflage army-fatigues to wear. Thus, upon re-dressing, I donned my squirrel hat, thanked her profusely, and, at long last, left the abode.
I spent the rest of the day inside the local big-box liquor store, shooting mallards with a crossbow. My Logitech marble mouse would fetch each duck that I hit and return the kill to me, like a regular hunting dog.
Anyway, that’s enough introduction. Here’s my son Gorgias…
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