It was late December and I rushed out to the mailbox. There were some bills, some notice about a missing child (Shes not missing, just in the basement.), and then I saw it: The Penthouse Winter Nipple Special! After reading the articles from back to front (Penthouse journalism is really top-notch ), I noticed another magazine. With a picture of me on the cover.
Apparently, the national crapmongerers at Time Magazine have named me as the 2006 Person of the Year. I guess my hard work as an investigative editorialiser and quasi-attractive ladies' man has finally paid off. And honestly? It's about fuckin' time. Get it? Time? Like, Time and
But, seriously, what took you guys so friggin long?Congratu-fuckin-lations Time Magazine on the slowest news break of all time. What are you going for next week? "Christ born?". I mean, if breaking up Britney and K-Fed, killing Gerald Ford (from the inside!) and conceiving Barack Obama didn't convince them, then what finally made them come around? I assume the proverbial deal was sealed the other day, when I gave a homeless person a good talking-to. I mean, all that progress, and I'm a humanitarian to boot? In retrospect, I was a shoe-in for this award.
Of course, if I'd had the time, I would formally thank Time Magazine for recognizing that I am The Shit. But as they probably know, I'm way too important now to talk to some crappy magazine. Now that I've become even more famous, I spend my days in the mold of a true celebrity; wake up at noon, shower till one, eat lunch, watch cable 'til the sun goes down, when I start drinking. To be honest, it's not much different than my old routine, except that now I'm showering regularly. Except I haven't really had time to "actually" take those showers, I usually just spend that hour beating off and trying to remember where I put my wallet. But hey, nobody's perfect. Besides me, of course.
I figured Time would send a reporter to come talk to me about the award, but if there's one thing I gotta hand it to them on, it's that they've pretty much stayed out of my hair. They realize that I'm way too busy for any of that bullshit PR fluff crap. And I am these baseball cards aren't going to put themselves in plastic sleeves in chronological order by the team's geographic region. I mean the freakin' Pacific-Northwest alone took almost an entire hour! I've got to stay on top of this shit, it's what got me to where I am today. Fame ain't gon' change me.