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Before I was to begin, a public ceremony was held in my honor, where top government officials from many great nations sidled up to where I stood on the stage and, tearfully, dejectedly, tried to slip me the keys to their nuclear complexes and missile silos, without anyone noticing. I tried to console them. "Don't worry," I said to each one, all sympathetic and warm, "I'm sure the bulk of your life has certainly not been as pitiful and stupid as it is now, at this difficult moment." |
Then I lightened up and got all back-slapping jovial, telling them not to worry, because I was so drunk on my ass that I wouldn't remember any of this anyway. And I let out a big belly-laugh to try to help them not be so bummed about the loss of their little nuclear thing.
Then, the next morning, I got up early, had a few drinks to clear my hangover, and went out to start making the rounds. At each complex, there was always somebody who'd be very nice and give me a quick rundown on how to aim and where the reserve starter button was, in case the primary starter button failed.
Book: TABLE OF CONTENTS |