I'm a little nervous about writing this. More nervous than a skinny busboy stuck between Sally Struthers and the buffet table. More nervous than Barbara Streisand at a Republican fund raiser. Scared, too. More scared than the "Meet the Press" makeup artist assigned to do touch up on Linda Tripp. More scared than Bill Gates in divorce court.
I feel bad about not writing. Really. I'm sure I lost the 7 fans I had. Damn, I was hoping to crack into a double digit fan base. I was more hopeful than a 70 year old virgin at a whore house that my readership would expand. More hopeful than a gutter salesman in a downpour.
This is really awkward because I feel like I'll be harshly judged. More awkward than a one armed man playing handball. More awkward than a bald headed salesman at the toupee convention. More awkward than a rabid monkey in a nun's habit driving a Volvo...
Okay, I'm running out of ideas. And, I'm beginning to panic. In fact, I'm more panicked than the Clinton intern assigned to wake the former President's staff. More panicked than that same intern asked by the former President if she'd like to be part of the next "Free Willy" sequel.
How do I wrap this up? What's the closer? Damn... think, man, think! This ain't easy. I wish my articles were computer generated like my brother's. Maybe I should try that. Aw, hell... you finish this for me. Pick from the selection boxes below and for my sake, end this on a high note because it's late and I'm as tired as Madonna after "paying" her road crew.
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Hey kids, try your own "wacky ending" here! It's fun for the whole family!
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