darth-vader-callI’m not in the mood to write and yet, here it is, my turn in the barrel. Again. This is where my lack of vision becomes your pain. Enjoy.

I could dust off some canned material. Oops. I see Oma already covered that story last week.

Okay. How about some Bruce Jenner? Is s/he fair game? Oops. I see Oma dropped the K-bomb in his last post, too. Dammit.

A lot of people come up to me and ask why I haven’t aimed my rapier-like wit on Bruce’s chest in sharp riposte. (Or words to that effect.) Shrug. S/he hasn’t offended me. Who am I to ridicule someone else’s identity choice?

If it makes you feel any better, I’m writing this post using the fanciest font I own. That’s real writing. Not that you’ll ever see it. Your browser is probably still using Comic Sans MS. I also plan to buy a Darth Vader voice changer at Toys”R”Us and make prank phone calls. Anything for the craft. “Do you have Prince Albert in a can?” What??? Tuna soon???

I guess I could check the news. Did any parents dangle-drop their children into a vicious animal exhibit at the zoo? Those stories usually work out very well. At least for me and the ravenous beasts.

selfie-empathyHmm. Selfie sticks continue to be a thing. I’m currently working on my reaction video that that. Sure, some organizations are now banning them. Selfie drone, I hope you’re ready for the big time.

Another hot new trend is the “promposal.” Why simply ask someone to go on a date when, instead, you can turn it into a narcissistic orgiastic feast for the senses tailor-made for social media? I’m practicing how to vomit at will in case this ever happens in my vicinity.

“Do you want to go to the prom? Take 42. Quiet on the set. Action!”

In other news, the CDC reports that e-cigarette usage among teens has tripled in just one year. What a drag.

I often imagine that I’ll be outstanding in my field when the aliens land. I’ll be the lucky one to represent humanity. You’re welcome!

If they dare say “Take us to your leader” I’ll reply “I’m not fishing right now.” Yes, I have prepared that joke in advance. I like to be ready for any possible contingency. Not that they’ll get it. Stupid aliens.

“We are curious about your species,” they might say. “What can you tell us?”

“You mean besides selfie sticks and Kardashians? Mmm. Tough one.” I’d likely pause and stroke my beard for dramatic effect.

“Oh yeah,” I’d exclaim. “That reminds me. I’m a member of an invasive species. That just means we do things like go poop and not wash our hands. What could possibly go wrong? Our scientists have discovered beards that contain more fecal matter than toilets. And that’s important since expressions of identity via facial hair is are about 3-5 percent since 2009.”

If they look shocked I’ll simply extend my hand and see if they’re willing to shake it.

“We also stick our children in luggage at airports,” I’ll offer lamely and completely out of context.

“Welcome to Earth. We’re as ripe as an avocado at McDonald’s for the taking. This place is the pits. You may start your landing. All I ask is that I get to be the one guy to hang out with the sexy Cylons while you destroy everyone else. I mean my friends.”

Addendum: See what happens when I have nothing to say?

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