We’re going to play a new game today. It’s called Who Wants to Be a Moron? Specifically, more of a moron than me.
The rules go like this: I present a scenario in which I’m a moron. HUGE moron. And you, dear readers, come up with situations in which you were an even bigger moron. The bigger, the better. I don’t really care how this happens. Lying totally works.
The object of the game is to make me feel better, to make you feel worse, and for me to be able to call you all morons behind your backs. Character doesn’t build itself, people.
Today, we’re focusing on one particular act of supreme stupidity. The time, not two hours ago, when I stood up our good friends for dinner. Stood them up at our own house. To which they brought a lovingly prepared appetizer. As well as their two hungry children.
I have a legitimately good reason for not being there to greet them. Namely, that I’m dumb. My calendar also shape-shifts at will. In fact, it’s not so much a calendar as a Sudoku puzzle that I, not being much of a numbers person, insist on filling in with letters as if it were a crossword puzzle, so that even the shrewdest of Navajo Code Talkers can’t make any sense out of it. Add to that the fact that I never know what day it is (note to self: check your own blog). Then there’s all the hard drugs. But all good reasons aside, there was still no one home when they arrived.
So, back to the game. Anyone screwed their friends worse than this? Do tell. And did they forgive you? And how much did it cost?
As for prizes, well, the award of choice on the blogosphere seems to be a bacon wallet. As AWESOME as this prize is, I don’t have any to give away. When I woke up this morning, procuring game show prizes wasn’t tops on my list of things to do as I was too busy readying myself to be an asshole.
Based on the evidence you provide in my comment section, if you’re declared The Biggest Moron Of All Time and you feel you deserve, at the very least, a bacon wallet for your trouble, I suggest you take some bacon and wrap it around your existing wallet. You’ll thank me in approximately 36 hours, if not sooner.
Who Wants to Be a Moron? will, I’m sure, become a recurring feature, so you might not want to unload all of your stupidity at once. If you do, I’ll feel great today, but just plain suicidal down the road when my comment section is painfully empty and I’m wrapping bacon around my own wallet. So, pace yourselves.
On your mark, get set, GO.