Some stuff about stuff

I was watching American Psycho the other night and I was thinking “I can relate.”

It’s not that I would like to kill people, it’s just that I think stabbing would be fun. Like as a sport. I would be good at it. You get real close to something and then just wam-wam-wam.

Remember that song Wham Rap? Now tell me you haven’t wanted to stab someone.

But murder is bad. You shouldn’t do it. I think. I can’t remember. It’s been ages since I’ve been to church. Sometimes I forget. Like the other day when I was worshipping that golden calf and in the middle I was like “Wait – I’m not supposed to be doing this.” That was a lot of clean up. Also, I had to figure out how to sell a golden calf. It’s not easy. Most people want half the cost for postage. Eventually, I just started riding it. It wouldn’t go anywhere. But I looked pretty boss, naked on my golden calf at Walmart.

A lot of people get down on Walmart for being mean or something. I can’t remember. It was in the news or something. Anyway, point is, people are mean to Walmart. It’s just a shopping center with cheap products – what’s wrong with that? Sure, they treat their employees like scum and run Ma and Pop stores out of business and have sex with my wife, but that’s how you keep margins low. Sure, every time you buy a gallon of orange soda an executive in Arkansas rapes a mule – but that’s the price you pay for orange soda savings – mule rape.

Rape is never funny. Not even when you’re talking about mules. Mules are people too. Think about it. And while you’re thinking about that, a mule is probably taking your job. That’s the way it goes when you live in the West: mules get raped and take your job. It’s the circle of life.

Why the circle of life? Why not a square. It’s not like the world is round. A lot of people will tell you it is – like creationists and gays. I’m pretty sure it’s those people – those guys that move their body parts into different positions and become cars. I think their god is Optimus Prime or something. Anyway, you shouldn’t hate Walmart.

Some people you should hate: that guy down the street who got mad that I was looking at his wife. Looking at his wife! That’s it. I was naked, I wasn’t in a tree, and I wasn’t touching myself. I simply looked at her and took out my phone and tried to see how much that model cost. When I couldn’t find it, I asked the husband how much he got her for. And, yes, I can see how that might be misconstrued – like I meant for sex or something. Nothing could have been further from the truth. I just wanted a housecleaner. When I tried to explain this, things got worse. Maybe because she had just had a stroke or the fact that I had lit his house on fire a couple weeks before, or maybe just because he was my Dad.

I don’t understand why people don’t get along with their Dads. Dads are great. Like this one Dad that I had when I was a kid. I think his name was Jim. Or Ronny. Maybe Ronny – Jim. Like we were hillbillies or something. Wait – that was Bill Clinton. Bill Clinton wasn’t my Dad. God, I wish I knew who my Dad was. Maybe I’ll ask the Dad I have now. He might no who the first model was. Then I could track him down and be like “DAD!” and then we could talk about old times. Like when he sold me to my new Dad for that mule.

If I could be one man on Earth for a day, it would be my Dad, Bill Clinton. He was once my Dad and once President. That’s two things I’ve never done before in my entire life. That makes him a hero to me. Like Patrick Bateman.