I'm your favorite columnist

Okay people, let’s start this new column thing off right. Let’s start talking about me. I like talking about me, so this shouldn’t be a problem. If I were talking about someone who is not me (you), or someone much the same as you (who is not me) who is similar (your mother), then we’d be in a big huge mess. But we’re not. At least I don’t think we (me and not me, who is you) are. I’m going to go find some aspirin.

Moving on, my name is Paul Ryan and I’ll be your columnist for today. I’m like a tour guide; a tour guide who’s leading you through absolutely nothing, and who also, by sheer coincidence, is teaching you absolutely nothing as well.

As long as you realize that you’re getting nothing and that I, in return, am also getting nothing in the form of payment, this should be a happy relationship. If only the women of my life could have realized this same fact.

Now, I’m what you’d call a normal man. I’m 18-35, I earn a modest living, and I buy cheese at the supermarket on Wednesdays. But some of you who knew me previously may have some odd ideas about me, so I’d like to clear up a few things.

-I am not a University of Minnesota-Duluth student, and I did not vandalize your neighborhood. Yet.

-I also did not throw eggs at your house on October 30, 2001 or treat your lawn as a lavatory every night for the past month.

-I am not Gary Coleman.

-I am not Gary Coleman’s cousin.

-I am not the guy who your teenage daughter met at the 18+ danceclub.

-I didn’t kill that guy. I just held him down.

“Lavatory” means restroom, by the way, unlike “laboratory”, which is an area used to clone kittens. Just a little helpful reminder.

Anyway, my point is that I’m very much like you, reader. Look at how much we have in common. I enjoy indoor plumbing, as I’m sure you do. I don’t do my business in a bucket and toss it out the window, like they might have done in more primitive times. I can’t sit here and assume what you or others do, but I’d imagine that you at least yell “heads up” out the window before tipping over your bucket.

Other things we have in common include our mutual love for electricity, our similar urge to eat food daily, and the fact that we’re both totally in favor of keeping the modern calendar system exactly the way it is. Except for that damn month of March.

There aren’t many like us, reader. We need to stick together.

In fact, what are you doing this Saturday night? Since we have so much in common, maybe we could stick together while going to dinner and a movie. Perhaps we could lounge by the fireplace on a bearskin rug and sip a glass of wine. Perhaps things might get interesting . . .

No? Oh. Okay. No big deal. I mean, it’s not like I was asking you out or anything. You didn’t think that I was, did you? Oh. Well I wasn’t. Really, I just wanted to hang out and be friendly, like best friends do.

Let’s just forget this happened. Let’s go back to the way things were, with you reading my column and me writing it. No embarrassing moments, no awkward feelings next time you read this column and no mention of this moment ever again.

Okay then, I hope things will still be the same. I hope to see you again tomorrow, when we will sit together in your house, apartment, or the place where you eat your lunch and read this column. And if not, I’ll call and leave messages on your answering machine until you alert the police.