What's Wrong With Me?

-I can't accept the fact that it isn't, nor will it ever be, "opposite day."

-Thumbs the size of French baguettes.

-I'm too cool for school. Also, my SAT scores are unacceptably low.

-Nothing the love of a good woman won't fix. Or, barring that, a gift certificate to whatever liquor store is closest to my apartment.

-People's toes gross me out; this wouldn't be a problem, except for my enormous foot fetish.

-Gout.

-I'm haunted by the demons of my past. Also, by the ghost of John Wilkes Boothe. He's not a very nice man.

-There's not enough deodorant in the world to cover up the smell of my holiday ham-sweats.

-It's kind of a long story and, to be honest, it's not one that I really feel like relating in it's entirety here. But the gist of it is this: During the party at the home of a mutual friend, I accidentally... accidentally... punched Jesus in the face. See, there was this apple-bobbing contest that sort of went awry... doesn't matter...look, guys, he's really mad at me and he's been making all these veiled threats about how he, " should probably just blow this fuckin' planet up if everyone on it is an asshole like you, C-dog." So, like, if Armageddon happens sometime soon, it's probably totally my fault. My bad; this one's all on me.

-Brain farts. Literally.