A Column About Nothing

While the lowest of the plebeian proletariat sits in its dank environs typing its fingers into nubs, the exalted ruling class sits in the lap of luxury on a beach in Florida tormented by the ceaseless wondering of why the hired help is being so slow to refill their Mai Tais. While we are forced to wear socks under our mittens as we chip ice off of our desks, because heat is too expensive in winter, our prestigious principals, those lofty lions of media, are forced to suffer through the heinous act of adjusting their own chaise lounges.

Yes, I need a satire font.

Nevertheless, things are what they are.

And, like all children left unattended, my first thought was to throw an office kegger and invite over some of those nice ladies with low morals. But that thought was quickly dismissed when it became apparent that said kegger would be an ice sculpture within an hour.

Add in the fact that “frost bite” and “funzies” should never be used in the same sentence, and you have a recipe for disaster.

My friend and former Playboy model, Debra Jo Fondren, thought it would a great day to write about kitties. More specifically, the Sunda Clouded Leopards which were recently discovered in China. Sure it might be fun to write about a new species of cat, but what do I say after “Hey look! It’s a new species of cat!”?

Yeah, that about covers it.

Then I thought I’d bookend my masterpiece about penis festivals around the world with its female equivalent. After all, fair is fair. But as it turns out, the only real excitement out there, after Amanda Palmer’s stunning look at her – ahem – map of Tasmania, is a rising cult of women who steam clean their vaginæ.

Not even I want to go down that particular road. Even so, I still feel a strong desire to party with Monica Garske.

Of course, as long as I’m writing about nothing, I guess we could take a minute to talk about a former television show about nothing. However, since said show featured a cast of characters whom I wanted to beat to death with a hammer – both individually and collectively, there’s not much there for me to write about.

On the other hand, I guess I could lead us all in a rousing chorus of If I Had a Hammer. But given the fact that we are a shocked nation looking for avenues of peaceful discourse, that seems a tad inappropriate.

Were I a smaller man, I could gloat over the fact that our leonine leaders will be forced to deal with thunder storms, rain and high waves today. In fact the weather will be so bad they’ll have to suffer through the indignity of drinking Mai Tais indoors.

But, like Whitman said, “I am large, I contain multitudes.” So I won’t do that.

I guess I could write about the baby Godzilla found in Riverside California. But “the cops found a lizard and the lizard was nice” is a pretty boring story.

Even by Californian standards.

In other words, there’s nothing for me to write about today. So I’ll just let you get back to whatever it is you’re doing and hope for better news tomorrow.