Living alone can be great. It really is, don’t you see? Well, you can’t really see it, but you have experienced it. I like to go anywhere when I’m alone. I like to go to the moon with a small mirror and reflect the light from the sun and point it back down to earth and see if I can kill an ant. Actually the moon feels so nice when we’re spooning. I like to customize my wardrobe and the food cabinets and the fridge. God, back when my roommate was around I couldn’t do it. Once you stepped into his bedroom you couldn’t breath and the chances of breaking your neck after stepping on a Lego, wrapping your waist in dirty clothes and hitting your head on the dresser with the plasma TV falling on your head were brutal. But now I don’t have to deal with him. He was a great guy though. Always telling me the toilet is running again and now I just want him to say that to me one more time. Although when I hear him say it, I’m thinking “shit not again.” It’s okay. I have my own place and a working toilet. But now I’m all alone.
But I do miss him. And now I’m alone. Dead musicians, comedians, and people I’ll never meet show up at my place from time to time. They tell me what’s going on with their life and the weird, kinky adventures they’ve been on. Well, that involve getting on the internet and checking out their blogs and pictures because without their own words it wouldn’t really matter. And then as the night rolls on they disappear. And I’m all alone. Sometimes I think about myself twenty years later and meeting all my long lost friends in reality and see what they’ve been doing. I gave them stuff they haven’t returned. Like my Studio Gibli DVDs. I wish they would end up falling into a coma so I can draw on their faces with a sharpie. Of course when I do meet them in real life and I get ecstatic about seeing them.
How are ya doing guys? I see you guys have gained muscle and weight. You working at the discount clothing store? Got back from the war? Ah, that’s great. And you got married, too. Me? Nah, I’m a bachelor. I got my own government inspected marinated pasta bowls and I have been selling some cool patches. My latest one says, “What the hell happened?” It works for everything. Oh, and I write for a living. Well, it’s good to hear from ya, but right now I’m gonna bask in my money, imagination, and cocktail party, rocking out somewhere in the universe. And as always…
Now I’m all alone.
Also, for those of you who read this and wondered what the parody is about, it came from Lenny Bruce’s stand up. You can click on his name.