THE BOOK OF ME

Tis a prompt: This Is Your Life

Of course I would read a book about myself. Since such a book would deal with one of my favorite subjects I’d have to check it out. We call that damning all false humility, by the way.

I could never write this hypothetical book. As a writer of fiction I would be too tempted to…ahhhh…polish things up a bit. I wouldn’t do so to try to make myself look better during the trashy events or out of any other dishonest intent but out of the spirit of narrative unity, structure and flow, and all that other pretentious stuff writers like to throw around.

Now if the writer of this mythical volume (let’s call him Bob McSteel… a manly name that causes hair to spontaneously grow on your chest) wanted to confabulate certain events until they reached hitherto unknown levels of awesome, I wouldn’t deny them. I’d probably thank him, in fact — even if the events were complete malarky. Especially if the events were complete malarky. Way to go, Bob! Now I am notorious.

Seriously … reading that book I’d be like all the comments that typically run against 1980s slasher flicks: don’t go in there, stupid! Don’t do that, stupid! Don’t touch that, stupid! Dont calltextemailgooutwithorevertouchherevenifitsjusttoscratchher, stupid! Christ, you’re gonna be sorry in the end, stupid!

Sorry in the end. If ever there was a theme that has run through my life it is being sorry in the end. The name of the book would probably be The Guy Who Wears Egg On His Face. That works…sort of cool and Bondish. Adele could record a bitchin’ theme song (it would be better than that rubbish at the beginning of Spectere. Well, the theme to The Man With The Golden Gun was worse) for the movie version. 

Speaking of endings, I wouldn’t mind finding out if Will wises up in the future. Heck, it would give me something to look forward to. If such wisdom is to be had I wish it would drop in the next day or two, next week at the least. I don’t know when so I’ll keep waiting.

Waiting …

Anytime now,Will. Hurry it up, dude.

 

 

 

 

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