Director: In this scene, Tom, you’re the UPS driver, delivering another shipment of pet food for Agnes’ 500 plus cats. You exit your truck, crawl over the abandoned car and broken lawn mower, and press the doorbell. When you realize it doesn’t work, you knock a few times.
Agnes, you scream “Wait a minute” as you navigate through your living room around stacks of old newspapers, piles of Jell-O boxes and five broken carousel horses. You finally open the door and see the hot, young stud, Tom.
Agnes, your heart immediately pounds, shaking off days of old corn flakes from your stained terry cloth robe. This is the first time a man has made it to your door since 2003. Your crooked-tooth smile clearly says “I want this guy” as you suggestively allow your robe to slide off your shoulder sending more cornflakes into the air and an old TV remote to the floor.
Tom, as you try desperately not to breathe through your nose, you nervously groan, “I have a shipment of cat food for you” as twenty or thirty felines luxuriously rub up against your legs.
Agnes, you beckon Tom in, almost moaning, “Just climb over that pile of Family Circle magazines and bring the food in here.”
Tom, after you finally reach the other side of the pile, you say, “I’ve really worked up a sweat. Mind if I take off my shirt and put it somewhere the cats won’t pee?”
Agnes, your smile clearly implies “Be my guest” as you heave last year’s dirty laundry off the couch and make some space. You lie luxuriously on it and seductively whisper, “You look tired. Sit down next to me and take a load off” while suggestively sweeping some kitty litter off the cushions.
Tom, here’s where you make your move. As you go in for your kiss, you spot a half-used can of Lysol. You grab it and passionately spray Agnes. Agnes, you gasp, choke and whisper, “I’ve been waiting years for a real man to do that.”
Tom, you quickly fashion a discarded clear, plastic dry cleaning wrapper into a body condom, hop in and ravage her as the camera zooms in on stale Fruit Loops stuck to your heaving bodies.
If there are no questions, let’s begin: Scene one, take one, and action!
Four score and, like, seven years ago our fathers, like, brought forth upon this continent, a new nation, like, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to, like, the proposition that, like, all men are, like, created equal.
Now we are, like, engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or, like, any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can, like, long endure. We are met on, like, a great battle-field of that war. We have come to, like, dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for, like, those who here gave their lives that that nation, like, might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that, like, we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we can not, like, dedicate—we can not, like, consecrate—we can not, like, hallow—this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have, like, consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or, like, detract. The world will, like, little note, nor, like, long remember what we say here, but it can never, like, forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be, like, dedicated here to the unfinished work which, like, they who fought here have thus far so, like, nobly advanced. It is rather for us to, like, be here dedicated to the great task remaining, like, before us—that from these honored dead we take, like, increased devotion to that cause for which they, like, gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly, like, resolve that these dead shall not have, like, died in, like. vain—that this nation, under God, shall, like, have a new birth of freedom—and that government, like, of the people, by the people, for the people, shall, like, not perish from, like, the earth.
I admire super heroes for using their super powers to fight bad guys, stand up for the less-than-super folks and generally help mankind when mankind needs a helping iron fist.
I also believe that, given their exemplary service to society, super heroes are entitled, now and then, to use their super human gifts for purely selfish gain. As far as I’m concerned, anyone who spends 24/7 fighting evil deserves some occasional super hero me time.
Yes, doing good for your fellow man should be a reward in and of itself. Still, there should be a few other benefits.
I have no problem with Clark Kent confiding with a restaurant hostess that he’s actually Superman, just to get a good table further away from the kitchen.
I couldn’t blame the Incredible Hulk for proposing to a damsel in distress: “If I lift this car off your leg will you buy some Girl Scout cookies from my niece?”
I wouldn’t fault Peter Parker for sidling up next to a gorgeous babe in a bar and whispering, “Hi, I’m actually Spider-Man. Can I buy you a drink?”
I’d probably smile approvingly if I was standing behind Wonder Woman at the dry cleaners and overheard her shout, “No, I don’t have my ticket. If you can’t find my red, white and blue bustier in one minute, I’m going to string you up with my Lasso of Truth.”
Why should Bruce Wayne haggle with AmeriSave Home Loans when one angry call from Batman could get his Batcave refinanced as quicken as one, two, three?
Yes, we need our super heroes They make us feel safe and secure. We take great comfort in knowing they can do no wrong. But would we feel less safe or secure if, every once in a while, we let Captain America cut in line at Starbucks?
At the very least, cut the Invisible Man some slack for hanging out in his girlfriend’s bedroom to see if she’s been fooling around with Wolverine.
I’m finally learning to love myself. It’s been a long journey. At first, I wouldn’t give myself the time of day. Gradually, though, I loosened up and gave me a chance.
It began with a magical night to remember. After months of gathering my strength, I stared at my reflection in the mirror and popped the question: “Would I care to have dinner with me?” How could I refuse? Looking back, I realize I should have asked sooner. The answer would have always been yes.
I didn’t play easy, though. It was my third date before I gave me a goodnight hug – after asking for permission, of course. I and I have been together ever since.
And what a difference loving myself has made! No longer do I sit alone on Friday nights wishing I was with someone else. I’m with me now, that special one who’s always up for a movie, dinner or just a quiet evening at home watching TV – and if the mood is right, shadow dancing to my favorite songs.
To think, I have spent most of my life feeling alone and depressed, when the one person who knows me better than anyone has always been right here inside of me – and has never complained I keep the thermostat too low.
I love me. No explanations needed, except for our wedding invitations.
Living Inside My Head 