If Life Was Like Tarantino
Sometimes, when I'm really bored, I like to think about what my life would be like if omnipresent writer/director/actor Quentin Tarantino were running it.Me (being woken by the clock radio playing a horrible '70s tune like Blue Swede's "Hooked on a Feeling"): Aww ... what the f#* ... F#*! F#*! F#*! I get up, stagger into the kitchen, and snort three lines of cocaine. I then wrap a thin band of rubber around my arm, pull it tight with my teeth, and inject some heroin. After eating a bowl of All Bran to get my daily fiber, I go get dressed and ready for work. As I'm dressing, the cat Dizzy comes sauntering in as the radio plays Tom Jones' "What's New Pussycat?" She stops and dips each time Jones sings "whoa oooa ooa." As I sit on the bed putting on my shoes, she leaps up, swipes at me with her claw, and takes off my ear.Me: What the f#*! You motherf#*-! Bring that back here!I chase Dizzy, grab my ear out of her mouth and reattach it to my head with duct tape. I then catch Dizzy as she attempts to drag an open can of gasoline around the apartment in preparation to torch the place.Me: What the f#* you think you're doing! (To my wife Barbara, who's watching in amusement.) Do you see what's she's doing? Barbara (haughtily): She ain't my f#*-ing cat. You chose her at the pound. I told you, a cat that eats her own litter ain't no f#*-ing good. I wanted the orange tabby.On our way to work, I play with my .357 Magnum as the car radio plays Chuck Berry's "My Ding-a-Ling." Barbara keeps looking over at me in disgust.Barbara: Would you put that thing down, you stupid d#*kweed?As I'm pointing the gun towards the back seat, it goes off. The windshield of the car behind us explodes in blood and rockets off the road.Me: F#*-!Barbara: Now there's a big f#*-ing surprise. You got to learn to chill, sweet pea.Shortly after arriving at the office, I get into a philosophical discussion with Casey, an account executive, over who were the best characters on the old TV show Green Acres. Me: Eva Gabor was by far the best character. Did you ever hear her describe the pig Arnold Ziffel to the cops when he was missing? (Imitating Eva Gabor.) "He's got a big round schnoot and a shquiggly tail." That was f#*-ing wonderful, man. Casey: You're f#*-ed. Eb was the best. Eva Gabor was bogus, man.Me (enraged): Man, don't you f#*-in' say that! Don't you f#*-in' dare dishonor that woman's memory. I'll bet you thought Family Affair was funny, too, you Gabe Kaplan-loving, Marcia Brady-suckin', Love-Boat-watchin' dog-faced f#*-.Casey: F#*- her! and f#*- you too!I take out my .38 snubnose revolver and put it to Casey's head. I drag him outside on the street as the Johnnie Taylor song "Disco Lady" plays loudly in the background. My co-workers look out the window and watch as I pistol-whip him out on the street. After giving him some sharp kicks in the ribs to finish him off, I dance to the Hues Corporation's "Rock the Boat" (playing in the background), and then head back up to the office.Back inside, I go on a rampage looking for a Bic Round Stic fine-point pen, taking out my nickel-plated .45 and firing at my desk in frustration. I snort six more lines of cocaine, shoot up some more smack, and finally collapse into my chair. One of my co-workers says, "That guy's f#*-in' nuts."Another replies, "Yeah, but he makes some mean f#*-in' coffee, man."