A Lost, Sad Man

Well chums, another weekend has slipped through the cracks. I didn't manage to see Kill Bill as planned because Paddy and I got lost on the way to the theater, which is like a mile and a half from where I live. This is another reason why I wouldn't have been a good conquistador: I never know where the hell I am going. I'd set out to go conquer Lima and end up attacking Reykjavik instead. Can you say public relations fiasco? Not to mention the fact they'd probably call a special meeting of the conquistador's club to throw me out and take away my conquistador helmet. What a bunch of assholes.

I decided long ago that if I ever were stricken with a terminal illness, I would ask the Make a Wish Foundation for a chauffeur. Then I could spend the last few months of my life getting where I need to go. I imagine that such an arrangement would also help my lifespan because when I started to feel death's cold grip, my chauffeur could probably find the hospital, whereas I would get lost and then crash through the front of a Church's Chicken out of desperation. I'd be set if the secret cure to my disease is coleslaw, but that seems unlikely.

I wouldn't be mean to the chauffeur, like I'm sure the rich people are. It wouldn't be unheard of for me to say, "What radio station do you want to listen to?" Whether it be R&B, Hot Country, or Sports Talk Radio, we'd listen to whatever he wanted every Tuesday from 3 PM - 5 PM. And if we need to run an errand for him, that'd be fine. I'll go in and pick up the dry cleaning for him while he sits in the car. If any of you ladies are bummed because I am referring to my chauffeur as a male, you shouldn't be. Nothing is stopping a woman from coming on as my chauffeur, I just expect that if I were to be on death's doorstep, I'd be even more scared of a succubus stealing my vitality than I am now.

PS: I just put something new up on CarlosJacott.com. Print it out and frame it.