“No. Absolutely not. I refuse to rub my rugged hands against a lamp with a grown man inside. I will say this as many times as I need to – I am not a homosexual.”
“Three wishes? Make it one. I’m tired of being the only eye candy on this council. Please take this heavy burden off of my shoulders and add another poor handsome devil to the dais … not too handsome, of course.”
“Wow, three wishes? What do you give the girl who has everything? I have a black blazer, a blue blazer and a red blazer.”
“I’ve been waiting for this opportunity my whole life. Do you know what it’s like to grow up with the initials B.M.? I know you’re thinking, ‘Gee, his initials sure do sound like Bowel Movement.’ Yes. They do. And I’m wishing for different ones. For my second wish, I want to know how to play guitar so I have something on Cameron. Third, I want the council to host a talent show between Cameron and I, where I will cream him with a nasty guitar solo from “Through the Fire and the Flames” by Dragonforce. Then, he will be forced to hand me his gavel after he fails to rise to the occasion, because he does not know the song.”
Every weekend, I gather enough firewood to be dangerous. After packing it behind the drywall of my study, I meditate. ‘What’s a woman to do with all of this wood? Does she keep it tucked away, like a coward – or does she write all of her bad thoughts down on flash cards, bring the wood to a dirt lot off of the 14 freeway, then burn them in the night?’ I wish for these thoughts to cease.
(WARNING: Not sure who needs to hear this, but this article is a satire. You’re welcome.)