I don’t really have anything to say but I asked for this half-page so I had better come up with something. Sometimes I have a hard time coming up with stuff to write because I am hesitant to be overtly self-referential. It’s not because I am afraid people will think I am some sort of self-aggrandizing egotistical asshole, because I am pretty sure a lot of people already think of me that way. Maybe I’m worrying over nothing. Who could ever think that I’m self-important? I’m way too funny to be self-important. It’s weird. I’m so funny and smart and good-looking, you’d think I’d be more full of myself.

I have four points.

My First Point.

A Eulogy for American Authorship, or Altivez, if you will. July 8, 1981-October 4, 2001. Son of Tim and Lorrie. Brother to Grace. Jason Kidd with a jump shot. The power of Mayes, the speed of Hayes.

Other cryptic messages: Track 7, Between the Buttons.

Also, Rory loves glueboots.

My Second Point

Girls are a lot like monkeys. I don’t mean girls are a lot like monkeys in a disparaging way. I mean this in the best possible way that you can say something like that. Maybe my point is not so clear. What I mean is basically that girls are a lot like monkeys.

Some monkeys are very good and you should try to spend as much time with these monkeys as you can, and to extend your relationship with these monkeys to the fullest. The secret to maximizing the value of your newfound understanding that girls are a lot like monkeys is that you must not let on to girls that you know just how much they are like monkeys. If they figure that out they will avoid you entirely, except to sneak up on you and bite your ears.

That said, the problem with this monkey theory is that I seem to be having immense difficulty in classifying the various types of girls or monkeys. I will see orangutans and baboons and cute baby chimpanzees wearing diapers and old-timey Napoleon hats, but it’s almost like I have monkey dyslexia and I can’t remember which is which and other times I suffer from delusions where I am convinced that one monkey is an ill-tempered and perhaps radioactive baboon when they are actually a gentle helper monkey who would be very nice to have around the house. Also not helping is the fact that girls really aren’t that much like monkeys and it makes them mad when you say that they are. I blame my roommate and his stupid theory about girls and monkeys.

My Third Point.

Blaming all your problems on your roommate’s theory that girls are a lot like monkeys is not going to work out in the long run. Or the short run. This is mostly due to the tremendous flaws found in the monkey theory that have recently been pointed out to me. I have forsaken my monkey theories because I have reason to suspect my roommate made them up to confuse and bewilder me. I am onto you, roommate. Next time you will have to think of something at least a little more complicated. Or maybe just confusing in a different way.

My Fourth Point.

People have been trying to rattle my cage and tell me that George Harrison is not the best Beatle. They can go to hell. There is one particular asshole who jabbers about Eric Clapton being the one who actually plays on “While My Guitar Gently Weeps.” This person can take his wive-thieving, dead-kid-eulogizing, Babyface-collaborating Eric Clapton and cram that jabbering right up his ass. If it was Clapton playing, George would have owned up to it.

Also, All Things Must Pass. It is a triple album. The cover involves gnomes.

Three scenarios:

A) You like gnomes, in which event you are delighted.

B) You are unsure about gnomes. I can convince you. Think about David the Gnome. He was the best gnome. You are smiling now. You remember how much you like gnomes. George Harrison likes gnomes. QED, you like George Harrison.

C) You actively dislike gnomes. You are wrong about the gnomes.

I mean, do I really need to recapitulate my bulletproof argument that conclusively proves George is the best one? I don’t, but I’m going to anyway.

Paul was a very good Beatle. He aged well, at least from 1968-1970. People have told me that Paul saved the back end of Abbey Road. This is true. But there wouldn’t be anything to save if not for George and “Something.” He did have the second best beard. But he has no soul. He left his wife, I think. He wrote “Yesterday.”

John was also pretty good. But he wrote “Yer Blues.” Worse yet, he wrote “I Want You (She’s So Heavy).” These songs make me very very angry. John also left his wife (and child). He also parented a member of the late Grand Royal Records artist roster, which does not reflect well on his skills as a parent. Maybe we can blame Yoko. But he still married her. Getting assassinated was a shame, but George got stabbed like 12 times.

One of my friends doesn’t refer to the group comprised of George Harrison, Paul McCartney, John Lennon and Ringo Starr as “The Beatles.” He refers to them as “John, Paul, George and Dork.” Ringo is Dork.