My Autograph

Everyone already knows that I don't have any friends here. But what you might not know is that I don't care. Why don't I-- who is known to be a very social person-- care? Well, because I am good enough, smart enough, and witty enough to invent My Own Friends.

If you are good enough, smart enough, and witty enough, you can invent Your Own Friends, too. Follow this model: move as far away from your friends and family as you can; do lots of laundry, never use the dryer; ration your coffee so it lasts for two weeks; say "gurdygurdygurdy" to your kid; if and when you are lucky enough to meet a new person, think of him or her as a model for a character and not as a potential friend; bemoan your poor spatial intelligence; loathe the bus; save crappy-tasting roasted parsnips to make an ugly but tasty soup for lunch. Then you'll be on the road to success...

My friends are the cast of characters from my hope-to-be-book. I have all these friends, in no particular order of preference: a gay pedicurist, a lady who believes the size of her ass caused her divorces, an albino stripper, a guy who thinks he can turn water into wine, a burn victim (called Joan--HA!), a waitress, a crafts store cashier, a bad rock-n-roll singer, and many many more.

Every day, I spend 2-4 hours with these people. We think of new stuff to do all the time. Sometimes it's really really fun, and other times it can be really annoying when they don't do what I want. The best part is that they always ask me for my autograph.

Do you want my autograph? Do you? Please?