Waiting for something to break

Looking out over Toronto from the top of the CN Tower, and still running for public office, I realize that I have taken several actions in my life for which I owe public apologies.

Once, I blamed the entire history of Middle East politics on a hapless middle-aged retard just because he said that he liked malls. He is currently awaiting trial at the International Criminal Court in rainy The Hague. I would like to apologize to the people of the Netherlands for my part in inflicting an American on them.

When I was 55, I strapped a large snowboard to each foot and sat in the middle of a narrow trail in Vermont, just to be a dick. I would like to apologize to all the skiers who injured themselves fatally in attempts to avoid me.

Four hours later, I tried the same on a mountain in Utah. I would like to apologize to the American people for failing to injure any Mormons in that endeavor. In order to console myself, I broke into a beer brewery and upped the alcohol content to 4% by weight, in contravention of state law. I would like to apologize for wasting alcohol on the people of Utah.

When I was three, my cousin hung up on an imaginary phone call with Mr. President and proceeded to place an imaginary phone call to Mr. Government. I became so overcome by stress from her antics that I cast away her mock aloe, peddled my tricycle to Boston, and pissed all over the First Church of Christ, Scientist. I would like to apologize for not having waited several years in order to piss on some Scientologists instead. I would like to apologize to Uncle Bill for having dragged his name into this blog entry, especially in such close proximity to the Scientologists, who hate him with aplomb. I would like to apologize for having re-enacted this episode every month since then, despite the protests of Mr. "I-am-not-a-Jew" Schwartz et al.

Several years later, I defecated on the streets of Hoboken, Jersey City, Atlantic City, and Camden during rush-hour traffic. I would like to apologize for not doing this in every city in New Jersey (Newark in particular).

Last month on a flight to Dar-us-Salaam, I noticed that Steve Martin was sitting across the aisle from me. While he was sleepily drooling into his pillow, I swiped his notebook. I would like to apologize to Steve Martin for plagiarizing this blog entry verbatim. I would also like to apologize for having sex with his wife Karen seventeen times. I would like to apologize to Karen for having sex with her three times without her consent, and I would like to apologize to both Steve and Karen for having sex with their children while pretending they were members of the Plimpton family. I would also like to apologize for having sex with their elderly Hawaiian turtle, whom I mistakenly believed was dead.

In 1981, I dined at Sammy's Roumanian Steakhouse while wearing a purple zoot suit with a silver see-through mesh tank top. I would like to apologize to the Romanian people, the denizens of Chrystie Street, the City of New Orleans, the poblano farmers, the shiksa that gave me a lapdance, and the marmot named Stu who saw the pictures on the website of a Jewish dog rapist and promptly choked to death on his own vomit.

In 1987, I dined at a Benihana with a girl who would later get tattoos and piercings. We sat at a hibachi with a truckload of Italian tourists who spoke no English at all. I would like to apologize for laughing hysterically at them when one asked, „Du sprichst Deutsch?“, and for getting blood all over the teppanyaki when I slit their throats after another asked, « Quel pays ? »

On New Year's Eve in 1989, I dined at the same Benihana with a different girl whose command of Japanese was incomplete. When a middle-aged drunken British woman jammed her tongue into my mouth, a Brooklyn school bus driver laughed at me. After leaving the restaurant, he offered me a Werther's Original candy to get the taste of old woman out of my mouth. I would like to apologize for following him home and forcing him to watch the same episode of “Full House” over and over again for 37 hours.

I would also like to apologize to Girl Scout Troop 5166 for calling them a bunch of stupid whores. While they still are a bunch of stupid whores, there was no way I could have known that at the time. Furthermore, when I was growing up, the term “stupid whore” approximated the use of “Khidir beneath Momouteh” and “Shaka, when the walls fell.”

Finally, I would like to apologize for making a Star Trek reference when I could have said that thing about porchmonkeys instead.

Now on with the campaign!