COLUMN: Columnist describes self as slob, ugly, vulgar; finds writing therapeutic

I'm Back!

Hello there friends and neighbors, pleased to be adressing y'all again on this bright and happy Tuesday morning. My, quite alot of interesting things have transpired since the last time I saw fit to grace these hallowed pages with a great big boogery mess of my caustic wit.

For starters, I am not in hell anymore. They figured out that I was too comfortable there, so they put me back here on earth indefinitely, so's as I can truly be punished for all the wrong things I have done in my short miserable life.

I had a very important 47-second conversation with a friend of mine yesterday. He kept telling me about how, even if he flunks a test or somethin', he don't let it worry him cause this school isn't what defines him. Well, that got me thinkin'. Just what in the heck defines me?

A numero uno: Fatness. Fatness defines me like nuthin else. I am a regular walking lard bucket. Hell, they should give me my own damn zip code. I know this to be true because when I put on my pants in the morning they start groaning. Let's face it, I give Jenny Craig a coronary.

A numero two-o: Ugliness. Yep, that's me, ugly as the day is long. Why, when I look in the mirror in the morning to comb my hair, it starts screaming. I had to nail that effer down just to get it to lay still. They+├ó-├Ęshould drop leaflets with my picture on it over Afghanistan as a form of psychological warfare. Yup, ugliness defines me pretty darn good.

A numero three-o: Stupidity, vulgar effin stupidity. Why, I spend 15 minutes every morning just trying to remember what my first name is. Is it Satan, Gimpy, Randum, Tom or just plain Mudd. One time the professor asked me about my bowel movements, and I told him how often I go to the potty weren't none of his bisness.

Oh, boy, moving right along. I guess I am defined by my bad attitude, too. You see, people often ask me if this column is some kind of a front. They think maybe I am not really like this, or this is all some sort of joke, and I am really some dude that has all his eggs in one basket, a full head of hair, a lot of money and peace of mind. Well, you know what gang?

You're wrong. I am really like this.

My writing is a form of therapy.

Otherwise, I might be sitting in a rubber room writing home with Crayolas and babbling about how oysters will overun the world.

So in conclusion, as far as defining myself, I can do it in one simple word: effin loony.

Oh damn, that's two words.

See, dum dum dum...

But why the hell does everybody think I am so damn funny?


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