I'm Just Trying To Manage My Career

No kidding. That's why I crawled out into infinite space while clad in a single dirty diaper. But, you know what? There wasn't even anything good out there. So I came crawling back. And boy, was I ever humbled, having to return to my home town empty- handed and face all my friends.

My scabs are striking. I had a small crap explosion mounted in nice gold setting so I can wear it out of the house.

The joke's really on me. Really. No, no, hey, pal, now you just put that joke away. Your sense of humor's no good here. So, here's some news, then. Alright, then.

BEVERLY HILLS, CA:
Although, according to reports, "at one time the fastest of friends", the Gary Condit legal camp and the O.J. Simpson legal camp are currently at a standoff. It seems that both camps have recently made public statements alleging that the other has caused their client to disappear without a trace, with each camp denying the other's allegation. Now, at this point, it isn't clear whether the two individuals are really even involved in the dispute, or have actually vanished, for that matter; unnamed sources have it that both Mr. Condit's and Mr. Simpson's respective identities and legal records may have been "annexed" in "leveraged individual buyouts" for unnamed sums. An unnamed source to the source has reported that a single party may have been involved in both purchases, but the alleged unsubstantiated status of this has yet to be fully verified. Word has it that formal replacements may soon be appointed for both public figures, with veteran television and screen actors Michael J. Fox and Eric Stoltz competing for the parts of both. "These fellas sure knew how to party down," alleged one allegedly verified unnamed source. "And let me tell you, there are people in this town... people who really want these guys back, but bad."
Lester Vergiss reporting.

(puts shit on glass slide. puts glass slide in microscope. flushes microscope down toilet.)

I'm rather fond of anything that is an explosion of crap and that knocks me down. I've just been given an immature burial. I make silly quacking noises and spit and throw rocks inside my coffin.

For my new career, I have decided that I would like to become a football diplomat... one who can hash out differences between the respective teams, and who can bring a true peace, so that no vulgar, boring, violent game need ever again occur.

As a matter of fact, I think most dirty jokes can be "fully resolved" by the right diplomatic intervention. I mean, we're talking about a true, lasting peace here.

Not to mention the fact that the "ball" itself is, well, it's just plain fucking odd. Not to mention that the whole thing of "goal posts" has been a mainstay of bizarrely disorienting self-help analogies for, well, a long damn time, really. Hell, I just want to get drunk and double people's money.

As a matter of fact, my new business looks pretty promising... I've already made two nice, shiny pennies out of one. Well, that is, if I hold my head a certain way.

Well, here's a joke:

FIRST SCIENTIST: "Here's a riddle, Mister Second Scientist: if it is located exactly on the equator, which direction does the whirlpool turn in a giant toilet?"

SECOND SCIENTIST: "Gee, I dunno. Which way is that?"

FIRST SCIENTIST: "Any way it wants to, brother."

SECOND SCIENTIST: "Haw, haw. Hey, so which direction did you say that plague-infected mandrill ran again?"

Hey, hey, lookit. I'm bombing here. (grins to show mouthful of blackened teeth) Really. I mean, this is really great. (hands out x-rays of deformed pelvis to audience) Look hard, and you can even catch my blackened teeth in there. Hey, thankyouverymuch. I'm milking it for all it's worth.

I'm pretty dumb, but I always move at breakneck speed. You know, I may be a nobody these days, but at one time I was quite precocious... I was a no-talent clear back when I was only one or two. So, then, anyway, I'm jumping straight ahead to my late- career, "sad self-parody" phase. But, well, I mean, these facelifts were meant to be *used*, right? One shouldn't just lean back and rest on one's facelift.

Well, so there it is. I made me a decision today. I'm a-gonna get that dirty diaper back on and I'm gonna jump right back up into space. Just got to give it another shot, you see. And when I get back up there, I'm gonna start right at the bottom and work my way up. No more hotshot airs and bigshot pretenses for me. Nossir. I've learned my lesson. Yup, and this time things are really going to be different... I can just feel it!

So here's a little story.

FIRST PRETENTIOUS RADIOHEAD FAN: "I can see you caricaturing me, there, buddy... you can't hide it from me. Now, you'd better hand it over."

SECOND PRETENTIOUS RADIOHEAD FAN: "But... it's just one graceful arabesque! Surely..."

FIRST PRETENTIOUS RADIOHEAD FAN: "Naturally, naturally... and you've quite handily captured my deepest essence. Alright, now I'm honked."

"Say, I been a-chewing my leg off the these last six months now and I still am not getting the critical recognition and acclaim I deserve."

"Ah, that's OK. They may not dig on you right now, but wait until you get to the late-career, "sad self-parody" phase. You'll be a-cleaning up.

(gets drunk, doubles everyone's money, finishes chewing off leg)

(show Tony Bennett, William Shatner, and Robert Goulet, each applying finishing touches to chewing off his own leg. 'Hey, it worked out just great for us.')

Say... hey... these two pennies just turned back into one again. (phone ringing) Aw, shit... now I bet that-there's the goddamned FDIC.

(crap explodes)