Yet more personal disclosures

I am a preteen girl, and I’ve developed a name for myself by starting my own public-access cable TV show. My gimmick is that I interview famous actresses and compliment them on their appearance with lewd, objectifying language — the type of speech that drunk men might use at a strip club. This is neither humorous nor titillating: it’s just rather sad; but people tune in to watch my show every week. I’m growing my audience and getting surprisingly solid ratings.

Yet, what if you had to choose between saving the planet or saving the children — would you actively destroy the Earth so that the kids could survive? For then the children would exist in space, floating in air, with no globe to land on; but at least they would be safe. I’m sure that you wouldn’t choose the other option, because a healthy globe with no people on it is tedious — as it is written in William Blake’s Marriage of Heaven and Hell: “Where man is not nature is barren.”

That’s why I spend most of my free time reuniting long-lost lovers. 

Whenever anyone asks for my contact information, I hand them a lengthy, rectangular pane of glass, on which I write out my telephone number in moist red digits using a squeeze-dispenser of ketchup. 

I went to visit my childhood friend Glen in New York City, where he now lives. We were standing on the street when two couples strolled past on the other side; these folks seemed to be on a double date: two gorgeous females were walking arm-in-arm with two handsome young men. So Glen I went over and asked the two women if they’d like to leave their boyfriends and accompany Glen and me up to our apartment. And the women said yes.

I got my hair braided when I was in my early twenties. Then I moved to France, where, for a whole year, I spoke nothing but Spanglish. And, during the day, I would practice the jump-rope game “double Dutch” — that’s how I won the world championship.

When I was a teen girl, tho, I dated a whole boy-band that was popular at the time. When our relationship ended, I moved back to Saint Paul and sought help from a shrink. He told me to lie on the couch and try to infantilize my thoughts. I did this very well. Then, when I got home, I spent the whole night trying to shred the receipts for all the drugs that I bought. 

I’ve learned that it’s easier to find employment if I rely on my looks alone, because my personality is annoying. When my boss asks me how I prefer to be addressed, I say: “Call me either Bronco or Barnacle.” For I am a night-crawling salamander disguised as a deer. My job is to get myself caught in your headlights and then make it impossible for you to steer around me. It’s sorta like playing “Hide & Seek”, except, instead of attempting to locate your opponent, your opponent has already found you and will never let you go — so you suffocate to death.

Yes, as you can see, I wear a fool’s cap, and both of my lungs are metal. After suntanning till my skin burns, I build my trapezius muscle by shrugging. I keep trim by doing unclothed aerobics for the first hour of every day; then, since I’m already outside, I spend the next hour chasing squirrels.