Is it plausible that I still believe the best line in a movie hasn't been written yet? Would I even remotely know where to begin in creating this line? Is it in a comedy, a drama, a suspense mystery, scat porn, or documentary about the virgin Mary appearing in a chicken nugget? Would it be a run-on sentence or maybe even contain Olde English vernacular? Would it be originally written in braille by a blind trailer skank from South Africa? Would it even bother said writer if there actually are no trailers in South Africa and the word "skank" is constantly triggered by the spell checker? (Actually, I have no idea about the trailer thing, but I'll deny it up and down to your face, because I loves me some African eye patches. Of course they look like air filters for an Oldsmobile Delta 88, but who really cares, We're in Africa!)
Now, if you're wondering what the previous statements have to do with anything......good luck with that. I'm actually a little overdosed on coffee, which helps to amplify my mutant ability, and also makes me poop a tad loosely; but enough about my stool....unless you're into talking about people's private pile, in which case I would like to expound on that subject with more detail and substance (so to speak) at a later date when we have more time on our hands, because frankly it's gonna be a long conversation. So what if I like to talk about my poop? Does that make me less appropriate then say.....a proctologist? At least I talk about my own and not some guy's that I just stuck my fingers in to find his Broke Back Mountain decoder ring. Tell you the truth, if I had that job I'd probably, maybe nine times out of ten, choose typing over handwriting because I'd constantly be getting poop all over my yellow lined paper; you know, that stuff you had to write gigantic letters on in the second grade right after you figured out what boogers taste like. They taste pretty good, but not as good as paste.........and I just remembered why I don't have a vote in the Senate..........nope, I lost it.
Anyway, If there's anything I learned from watching Saturday morning cartoons, it's definitely that prostitutes don't usually like to watch Saturday morning cartoons with you. Ah, the memories... That's actually the first time I had to pay four women, a parking meter, and a pond full of koi fish to watch TV with me. One hell of a weekend. I wish I could remember what I did with that tile cleaner....well, the other half.
Still....that blind African just keeps mumbling on an endless loop about butterflies in the sky.....and....I can't get him to stop.