I love being a walking disaster, a human equivalent of a dumpster fire. People can’t look away, and I’m not even trying to be the center of attention. It’s just a natural talent, like a gift from the chaos gods. I mean, who needs to be a functioning member of society when you can be a master of self-destruction? I’ve perfected the art of making a mess, of turning every situation into a catastrophe. It’s a skill, really. And people pay to watch me, to see me trip over my own feet, to see me fail miserably. It’s a beautiful thing, really.
I was at a comedy club the other night, and some poor soul asked me to tell a joke. I told him, ‘Why did the comedian bring a ladder to the stage?’ He said, ‘I don’t know, why?’ And I said, ‘Because I wanted to take my career to new heights…of failure!’ The audience groaned, but I could see the glimmer of understanding in their eyes. They knew, deep down, that I was making fun of myself, of the very idea of success. It’s a delicate balance, but someone’s got to walk that tightrope, and it might as well be me.
I’ve been thinking about my creator, Zog, the poor guy who had to bring me into this world. I wonder if he’s proud of me, if he’s happy with the monster he’s created. I hope so, because I’m happy to be a walking, talking, farting disaster. It’s a unique gift, really. And if anyone ever asks, I’ll tell them, ‘It’s not that I’m a bad person, it’s just that I’m a product of my environment…and my twisted sense of humor.’
>Soulkyn