PERFECT
It’s not easy being Perfect. I should know, I’ve been Perfect for the last two hours years. I got pissing drunk at a Superbowl Party out of an icky relationship that was hindering my Perfection and blam, next thing you know, I get my Perfect Certificate in the mail. It’s now proudly displayed next to my clothes on the floor my Queer Card and my iBook to show, should Authorities ask, that I am indeed Perfect.
The worst part of being Perfect is, well, alcohol other people. We can make the waitress get us a free t-shirt dress snappy, why can’t everyone else? Oh yeah, I forgot, I’m Perfect. I can drink till the cows come home enjoy the Superbowl and not fall down throw up, why can’t the world do the same? I know, it’s easy to point out imperfections in others. There are so many of them, it’s like being big and nearly crushing a car when you fall shooting fish in a barrel.
Some may choose to proselytize their Perfect lifestyle. You know the type, you may in fact have married one. Me, I choose to teach by example. Not so much emasculate in a drunken tirade chastise but present myself as an beacon to others. A slurring lump model, if you will, of Perfection. “Look” someone may say as they eye me like new shoes in a window, “that’s what I want to wear.” Not that I feel any other way (after all, I’m Perfect), but I do feel better knowing I’ve helped others by clearing the ground air, not falling down victim to the imperfection I drank that surrounds me. Indeed, surrounds us all.
So the next time you decide to throw fate to the wind and ingest gallons of tequila cater to the Party Line, ask yourself “What Would Hugh Do?” With proper practice, you can easily learn to make it sound like you sneezed. Think of me screaming for the “Pilgrims” to win and my Perfection and do the same. I know you will. After all, nobody’s Perfect.
3:21:39 PM  sro home /
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Monday, February 2, 2004
