Let's Get Sick Of Me

Do you see me? Do you understand me? No you don’t. You couldn’t possibly. I’m young and fabulous.

Everything I do is cool. If you think something I’m doing isn’t cool, it’s because you’re stupid. You’re not young and fabulous like me. If I get drunk and vomit on the carpet and you think it’s pathetic, you’re wrong. You’re pathetic. You’re just mad because you didn’t create the “art” yourself. You’ve always been jealous of my “real-life art”, like “vomit on carpet”. How dare you try to make yourself fabulous by trying to unfabulize me.

When I fart into my cupped hands and throw it in your face, you think it’s rude. But it’s not. It’s fabulous. When you try to attempt the same “ass-hand art” later on, it ends up making you look pathetic and stupid. What, exactly, do you think you are? Young and fabulous? You can’t toss a fart in the fabulous way that I can.

Even those of you who are young and fabulous, you’re still not as young or as fabulous as me. You may be younger, but you are still sub-fabulous. Your fabulousness is not as fabulously fabulous as my fabuloso fabulocity.

Don’t even get me started about my superior youngness, your sub-youngness, and my fabulous new-fledged youngocity.

It’s not as easy as you think being so outlandishly young and so ruggedly fabulous. You wouldn’t understand because you are not young and/or fabulous; you are ugly, morbidly obese and smelly.

There, I said it. Don’t say you weren’t told.

I have a cardboard box in my house. Sometimes I crawl inside the cardboard box and bask in how enclosed and secluded my fabulousness is inside the tiny area. I sit in that small and wonderful box (which is just brimming will fabulousness when I’m inside), and I think about how close I am to the ultimate fabulousness, how close I am to myself while inside the box with my fabulous self.

But I can’t stay in the cardboard box long. I might pass out and die from an overdose of fabulousness. Too much fabulous vibes in one small boxed area is a dangerous thing. It’s tough being young and fabulous. So very, very tough.

Once I stayed in the box too long. It all became too fabulous for me. For a short period of time, I even got sick of the word “fabulous”. You don’t, by any chance, know what that’s like, do you? (Paul snickers under his breath)