Would you like to know what annoys me (vol. XI4a)?
When famous, spectacularly beautiful women get asked, “What’s the secret to your beauty?” and they say, “It comes from within” or “It comes from being surrounded by love.”
Oh, go fuck yourself. Everyone on earth adores me and I still look like an almond with a nose.
It comes from within. Shut up. Are you saying Don Knotts had ugly thoughts and was dark inside just because he was goofy-looking? Your beauty doesn’t come because you’ve surrounded yourself with happy thoughts, you fortunate-boned nincompoop.
It’s a stupid question anyway. People who look that great come from a line of people who look great, no matter the sunscreen or water consumption, and Don Knotts’s people have always been goofy-looking and always will. I don’t know why I’m so anti-Don Knotts today. And I’m really not. I’m anti-phony answers.
In other news, a body was found in my old neighborhood. I realize I should have led with this, but I just saw Julia Roberts interviewed. The secret to her beauty, she says, is she has nice kids. And that is when I punched her right in the junk.
Anyway, I don’t know how much about my old neighborhood you recall, but it was quiet and 100% safe and nothing happened to me for 10 years other than that weird knock on the door late at night right before I moved. Did I tell you about that?
It was, like, 10:30 p.m. on a weeknight, and as soon as the knock came, my heart started racing. Cha-Cha told me to start my engines.
“WO WO WO WO WO WO!” said Edsel, racing to the door with my heart.
“WHO IS IT,” I said, trying to sound like a fit 27-year-old man with anger issues and a pistol.
“Delivery,” said the male voice. Delivery. Who are you, the Land Shark?
“WO WO snarrrrrl,” snarled Edsel, and he’s not much of a snarler.
“Ah, you know what? Never mind. Sorry,” said the murderer.
And that is the only thing that ever happened to me in that neighborhood.
It, my old neighborhood, was very quiet, other than there were busy streets on all sides of it. Each busy street was three or four blocks away, but still.
Anyway, in my small neighborhood was a small park that Edsel and I went to every day. It’s where we always threw his poop bags out. I mean, in the garbage. I’m not a savage. It’s because I’m lit from within by my happy thoughts.
It would appear, based on the news photos, that that’s where they found said body. The park, not the garbage. I can think of some neighbors, fmr., that I hope it is, but it might be that it’s some poor nonresident–say, Don Knotts–who was murdered elsewhere and dumped in my Edsel Poop Park.
I got up one night at 3 or 4 a.m. to watch a meteor shower in that park. I am glad no one accidentally threw a body on me.
…Oh! I just looked it up, and the death is not suspicious. They believe that the person is really dead, it’s not suspicious. They don’t think the person is playing possum.
Wait, so what are they saying? Someone just UP and DIED in that park? That’s also creepy. …Oh. Was it a suicide? Now I feel bad. No wonder I’m not pretty, with my bad thoughts and mean kids.
On that note, I have to be at work in 11 minutes.
Your beautiful pal,