I guess the proper title should be “Things About Which I Suppose I Could Write,” but gimme a break. (Yeah, I know. Winston Churchill … “… a thing up with I will not put.”)
1. I could go on and on about David Letterman: Naah. I don’t watch his show; I don’t think he’s funny, and I don’t really give a shit who he has sex with [with whom he has sex]. The preposition thing is kicking my ass tonight.
2. I could pose the interesting question: who is the bigger asswipe — Jeanane Garafolo or Rachel Maddow? Naah, too difficult to choose. Sort of like being up to your neck in shit and someone throws a bag of snot at your head. Waddya do?
3. I could give you a blow by blow description of the sneezing fit I’m having that the moment. Naah. Boring. I am, however, properly sneezing into the portion of my arm opposite my elbow. I’m nothing if not a proper sneezer.
4. I could describe how my bottle of Mint Sweet Tea Vodka fell out of the freezer, breaking the cap and spilling half its contents on the floor. Naah. Too much of a downer; I damned near wept. Licking the floor would have been unseemly.
5. I could do a movie review. Naah. I can’t remember the last time I watched a movie.
6. I could do a scintillating piece about the exceptions to the hearsay rule codified in the Federal Rules of Evidence. Naah. That would be even more boring than the details of my sneezing fit.
7. I could confess that I always have to look up the spelling of “manual” to satisfy myself that it is not spelled “manuel.” Naah. No one cares about my chronic brain farts.
8. I could write about talking canned vegetables. Naah. The last time I was in the supermarket, the bastards wouldn’t speak to me.
9. I could write about having to take a number to wait for my turn to kick Bill Maher’s ass. Naah. The number 57,870 is boring.
10. I could skip number 10, thereby sparing you any more of this nonsense. Yep. That I can do.