I am amazed at how many prominent companies send their urgent messages by junk mail. PayPal, my bank, and my credit union notify me in my spam folder when they freeze my accounts. Amazon cancels my orders the same way. Only the urgent cyber breach alerts seem to get through the filters. Nothing is more important to me than a surprise inheritance, a lottery win, or even a Yeti Tundra Haul from Dick’s Sporting Goods. But those messages inexplicably arrive as junk mail. Luckily, I devour my spam and monitor my junk.
Sonobello Liposuction claims it is not too late to get my body back with one day fat and cash removal. I want my body back but FedEx just junk mailed me that the Sonobello shipment has been delayed until after the Senior Olympics. Renewal by Anderson assumes I am looking for energy efficient windows when all I want is someone to clean them. If I subscribe to Zoosk, they promise to find my love. But I already know where she is, namely wandering from room to room in our house looking for her car keys, phone, and the cash that Mortgage.net wants us to take out of our home. Neither of us can remember where we hid that cash or we would definitely take it out of the house and treat everyone to banana splits at Dairy Queen.
WordPress, my most faithful correspondent, repeatedly wrote me about other Bloggers finding my posts “pretty awesome.” Despite the redundant praise, I never tired of it. But when I requested a quote for a plan upgrade to “totally awesome” posts, WordPress switched me to “New like!” If I win the lottery, I will purchase the package that comes with celebrity comments and see if those generate more traffic.
I comically failed the health test of standing on one foot for ten seconds, nearly doubling my risk of death in the next ten years according to research published in the British Journal of Sports Medicine. The increased risk stems from deaths of people like me stupidly trying to balance on one leg while watching Good Morning America publicize this dangerous stunt. Unlike many people, I do want to pinpoint time of my death. I am heartened that science is narrowing this down for me. I need the advance notice so I can locate and destroy incriminating evidence. And it will take time to coordinate and complete my life finale jumping trifecta involving bungee cords, parachutes, and deep ends.
I do not remember if I ever could stand on one foot for ten seconds but I no longer put on my pants from a standing position. And I know I cannot stand on my two hands for ten seconds because I have tried that in the swimming pool. That failing has apparently doubled my chance of drowning.
I was distressed at my wife’s amazement when I could not perform the simple one footed maneuver. She made no attempt to contain her mirth as I flailed even though I am dealing with Stage Four Balance Cancer. However, I was most devastated when she demonstrated how easily she could stand on one foot (either one) for more than ten seconds. But she has been practicing as part of a health routine which includes brushing her teeth on one foot. My doctor says I was born with One Addled Foot syndrome and confirmed that practicing was not cheating and could help. My spell checker says I invented the word “uncoordination.” Perhaps they will name that word after me.
Last Sunday, my wife Mollie and I left a Church Salmon Bake on Vashon Island to follow a big yellow school bus rumored to be transporting VIP guests from the ferry terminal to a sculpture unveiling at LaSalle Reserve. We especially wanted to see a magnificent 13 foot sculpture installed in the garden as Our Lady of the Asparagus in a similar ceremony in 2018. We wound up a narrow driveway, disregarded instructions leading to gridlock, and moved a two-by-four blocking a parking space. The effort was rewarded when free chocolate and vanilla ice cream cones were served. Each time through the line, I received a smaller dollop of ice cream despite informing the suspicious scoopers that I needed another cone for my disabled mother.
Mollie was not supervising me because she was distracted. First she worried she addressed Tom Skerritt as “Brian” and that I had not helped cover up that gaffe. I reminded her that my previous attempts to correct her in public all ended badly. I assured her that Skerritt was not present because I stole his parking space. I suggested the actual Tom at our table likely heard “briny” and not “Brian” because we were describing the taste of asparagus ice cream allegedly on the menu, a falsehood I was spreading to shorten the ice cream line. Besides, the host referred to me as “Kevin” and nobody was embarrassed about that. I often answer to my late brother’s name. He would be delighted with rumors now circulating that he is alive. Mollie also apparently sat on someone’s plate of food. I was cautioned not to mention the stain on the seat of her pants by people who were either trying to save our marriage or just wanted the fun of telling her themselves.
After a week of not posting about myself, demand is skyrocketing for another one. The Pandemic disrupted the flow of my anti-Narcissism cream when pharmaceutical companies prioritized the elimination of Covid-19. Although Narcissism is more dangerous than Coronavirus, bias against Narcissists is open and blatant. Covid-19 vaccinations are free but now that anti-Narcissism cream deliveries have resumed, I am charged triple the 2019 rate for the medication. The price gouging has been attributed to a spike in the Narcissist population which is disingenuous because most Narcissists are in denial and not using the cream. My own awareness stems from a relatively mild condition and a wife who reminds me of my disease nearly every day. She also claims the cream is not working. But ever since I started applying it to my butt, my rear end has become more modest. It no longer appears unclothed in public and has stopped twerking in private.
My daily medication for Hedonism is Placebo but I call it ice cream. The pharmaceutical companies are now making it in smaller containers to disguise another form of price gouging. I squeeze my own Anti-Hypocrisy juice and supplement it with the rigorous daily exercise program GOOB (Getting Out Of Bed). It exercises all muscle groups. I am considered an idiot savant for the way I negotiate the path from bed to bathroom in the middle of the night. Like playing Wordle, I have six chances to win every day. I am finally getting enough sleep by more regularly dozing off in Church, at the movie theater, and during testimony at Narcissist Anonymous meetings. I have also created extra time in my day by eliminating personal hygiene rituals except for the double dipper of jogging while I brush my teeth.