Thanks for the applause. Yes, as my father said, I’m Gorgias — that’s my name. Thank you for coming out this evening, despite the heavy snowfall. Tonight I want to talk about how we discovered the fact that cancer can be cured by simply converting all the heterosexuals into homosexuals.
To start out, consider what it would mean to be a kamikaze break-dancer. You’d need to keep a firm hold on your grenade while doing all your moves, and then, when you begin to perform a headspin, you’d have to manage not to tip over while removing the detonation pin from the grenade.
Now I’ll give a little background about how I got into this field of study. I was actually training to be a cop, but then I ate four sheets of acid, totally by accident, which inspired me to invent my famous ’95 Dodge Neon motorcar that runs on beer. And you all know the rest of the story: No one has ever even test-driven this car, because, when one stands there with the keg of fuel in one’s hand, ready to fill up the engine, one begins to reason as follows: Why pour all this alcohol into the vehicle, when I could guzzle it myself? I’d rather just walk everywhere I need to go.
Then, on the 10th day of June, I was born again. I immediately began stealing cigarettes. But, after an epiphany, I got my life together and started partying with my father’s business partner Doug E. Fresh and his Get Fresh Crew. The general consensus, throughout the scientific community, is that Doug and I both possess the primary quality of shape, as does our Crew, but no one can agree on our tone or shade. That’s why we spend so much time discussing Bertrand Russell’s Antimony, even to the point of diverting our attention away from hula-hooping. (This also explains why my imaginary Siamese twin always whispers such disturbing truths in my ear when the lights go out.)
But I really should return to my roots: go visit army recruiters and ask them if they need a new professor of poetry.
Nowadays, I play guitar for 1980s hair-band cover-groups. I hide a study guide under my blonde wig that was made from a dyed squirrel pelt. (I learned this trick from my dad.) I actually provoked the Uncaused Unmoving Existent to get up and shimmy. Then it performed The Most Uncalled-For Action, so I had to run around to all the deities in the pantheon and persuade them that, by simply witnessing this catastrophe, they have agreed to a partially binding quasi-contract.
Was that clear? I’m just trying to show why most of the Old Gods now engage in door-to-door vending of guns and weed. Someday I should teach you all how to toss a fireball onto someone’s front lawn and then extinguish the blaze by weeping upon it. Also your assistant can snap a picture of you doing this; then rent a billboard to display the evidence of your charity.
Well, that’s all I have for you today. If you like what I said, please subscribe to my channel on the Null-Void Network. If you become a premium member, we’ll send you a coupon for a free hysterectomy.
Now, I’ll open my travel bag and remove this T-shirt cannon, so as to shoot it into the audience. This is your gift for attending my sermon: Each of you shall receive one of these cool shirts. Look, I’ll hold one up — see: across the front is printed the statement “I thank so I drank”. Isn’t that nice? Go ahead: remove all your clothing and put these on now; for, after this, we’re all going to get inebriated and take a tour of Tinseltown.
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