HAIRSHIRT
Helping You Get the Most Out of Your Misery
|
HAIRSHIRT Helping You Get the Most Out of Your Misery |
|
Sunday, October 03, 2004I May Not Have Already Won
I just got the call from Stockholm. I did not win a Nobel Prize this year. I'm pissed. This is the thirty-fourth year in a row I've been shut out. I was up for two of 'em this year, too. I figured I was probably a long shot for the Nobel in Physics, because theories on inertia and spicy corn chowder have not yet found widespread support in the international scientific community. Still, I figured I was a lock for the Peace Prize, what with my tireless efforts at halting Icelandic aggression toward Micronesia. Now I've got to face the annual call from Desmond Tutu, rubbing it in. What a prick. He actually bet Carter a case of bourbon that I'd lose out again.
I was so fucking sure it was a done deal. I already sent my tux for an emergency dry-cleaning. I picked up some discount carrier tickets to Sweden, which I'll probably be stuck with now because Der Plaane doesn't give goddamn refunds. I wrote my acceptance speech Wednesday night. There was nothing on TV, so I figured I'd get it out of the way. It was a great speech, too. Thanks to those Nobel jackasses, it's completely useless. Here it is, so at least someone can appreciate it. Ladies and Gentlemen of the Nobel Committee, I thank you. I stand here tonight not alone, although it looks like I am because there's nobody behind the dais with me and I came without a date. No, in fact, I am standing here with the entire nation of Micronesia. This statement is not meant to suggest that Micronesia is a sub-atomic civilization with advanced technology but a barbaric, war-like demeanor that a man could actually have in his pocket. No, I learned the mistake of that logic the hard way. When I say that Micronesia is with me, I mean it is here in spirit. It is here in the same kind of spirit it takes a tiny, but not subatomic, country to withstand the imperial might of Iceland. I first learned of the conflict between Iceland and Micronesia the same way many of you did, from a prostitute I'd hired for the night. She read the paper as I went about my business, commenting on articles she found interesting in lieu of feigning sexual excitement. (I enjoy honesty in these sorts of relationships, don't you?) She said, "Wow, look at this: Iceland is sending it's entire fleet to blockade Micronesia. Hey, any time, there, chief. There's a line outside." I went to the Icelandic embassy to speak with their ambassador to America. By some strange coincidence, it turned out that my old college roommate Scott Hickerson had been appointed to the post, which was strange, because the last time I'd talked to him, he was doing a three year stretch in Wisconsin for selling blotter acid to an undercover cop outside a Disney on Ice show. Apparently, his fortunes had improved somewhat. I explained to Scott that I was not there in any sort of official capacity. I was representing neither the United States nor Micronesia. In fact, I wasn't even really representing myself, especially since I'd disguised myself in drag as Estelle Getty from TV's The Golden Girls to gain entrance to the embassy. I pointed out to Scott that the United States would see this blockade as an act of aggression with no provocation, something the U.S. government finds completely abhorrent. The very notion of moving against a sovereign nation with no justifiable cause is anathema to what America stands for. Scott realized the truth of these words and knew that the United States would never stand for this sort of precedent being set. Additionally, I showed him pictures of the Micronesian orphan I'd sponsored for only one dollar a day, for whom my generous, tax-fee donation had supplied food, clothing and a four-day ski trip to Whistler, B.C. The picture of Jumblatt's smiling face was more than Scott could stand. He picked up the phone and called the prime minister of Iceland, who called Bjork, who called off the blockade. Apparently, all military decisions in Iceland now have to be cleared by Bjork. Which makes sense to me, because she's got such a distinctive sound. Anyway, the blockade never happened, thanks to my timely intervention and so whatever they ship to and from Micronesia was allowed to be shipped. I got a thank you note from the Micronesian people. It's pretty cool. It's got Garfield stretching his arms real wide and it says, "I thank you thi-i-i-is much." Then everyone signed the inside, even Jumblatt. I've got to go to Micronesia one of these days. I saw a picture of Jumblatt's mom and she's a hottie. Maybe I'll take this Prize money and go there this spring. Once again, I thank the Nobel Committee for this honor. Oh, one last thing: In your face, Tutu! Peace, out. What a waste of a perfectly good speech. They probably gave the goddamn prize to some lame-ass crusader who's been locked in her house under martial law for five years or something. God, those people so only do that for publicity. Whatever.
|
|
|||
| . | |||||
