Today sure is gonna be tough. I have until the end of this evening to write a column about my vices for the Emerald. Problem is, I just can’t think of anything I do that is either bad, strange, depraved, perverted, godless or even remotely sinful. Hopefully something comes to me soon. Now it’s off for a nice warm shower.
Phew! Just got out of the bathroom and, strangely, still no ideas. Usually my best thoughts come while I stand under the warm water and turn the ingredients on the back of the shampoo bottle into the lyrics to my personal operetta. Something about belting out words like “sodium myreth sulfate” and “cocamidopropyl” at the top of my lungs really seems to stimulate the ol’ noggin.
Speaking of stimulation, and since I have forgone a towel in favor of a little nude airdrying on the couch, I think it’s time to peruse some of the hottest pictures of the most unknowing babes on campus with the help of the stalker’s best friend, Facebook. Maybe that’ll help me think of what in tarnation my vice could be.
Wow. That was exhilarating. Good thing there are still some sexy foxes out there who haven’t found the “make profile private” option yet. Even if they do, that’s OK. I still have some, ahem, titillating shots blown up on my wall to gaze at whenever I please.
All that eye candy sure has left me hungry, though. Seems like a perfect time for a breakfast fit for a champion of my caliber. Mixing bowl of Lucky Charms? Check.
Nestle’s strawberry milk? Check. Jelly beans for dessert? Check. 1,500 calories of deliciousness down the hatch and I’m ready to put on some clothes and start what should be an incredibly strenuous day of trying to figure out what, if any, flaws I have. On second thought, that breakfast is kinda weighing me down.
Maybe it’s time for a nap.
After my nice mid-day snooze, I have come to two conclusions: First, when sleeping on a couch primarily used for making knuckle children on, sleep face-up. Number two, napping for 90 minutes does not help me think of vices any faster. If anything, it makes me realize just how angelic I am when I sleep. Twelve hours into the day and I’m at the same place I started: viceless.
After the day’s second shower, it’s time to settle down for my two favorite shows; “Around the Horn” and “Pardon the Interruption.” This should keep me occupied for an hour or so. Maybe watching six of America’s finest sports writers argue back and forth for 60 minutes will give me an idea as to what I could possibly call my vice.
OH…MY…GOD! That spongehead Bill Plaschke pisses me off to no end. How in hell can he say Albert Pujols is the best player in baseball? It couldn’t be clearer that Ryan Howard is head and shoulders above that pretty-boy. Any shit-for-brains worth his weight in feathers can see that. But not Bill “I make Dick Cheney look like friggin’ Carrot Top” Plaschke, NOOOOOOOO! He actually believes the guy who made a serious run at 60 home runs is somehow worse than the guy surrounded in the lineup by Jim Edmonds and J.D. Drew. Who did Howard have for protection? Chase Utley? Jimmy Rollins?
Wow. Sorry. I guess sometimes I let my rage get the best of me. It’s not really Bill Plaschke that’s getting me all worked up. It’s the fact that there are only two hours until deadline and I still can’t find one thing about me that I could remotely consider a vice.
Oh! I know what will get my thinking cap on straight! A nice run on the elliptical machine! Nothing gets the blood flowing and the percolator percolating quite like 45 minutes of running at an incline.
On second thought, I think I have laundry that needs to be folded. Then again, maybe I could do the dishes, or mop the floor or clean the lint trap. So many things to do and so little time! I’m feeling sleepy though. I guess I’ll just pop in some porn and fall asleep.
Yeah, that sounds much better than exercise.
Well, it’s deadline time and I’m still befuddled. I’ve thought for more than eight hours and I still don’t have a reasonable vice to put in the paper. Even after doing all my favorite thought-stimulating things (in some cases six times) I can’t find anything that a reasonable person would find objectionable.
I guess that makes me perfect.
