Downright memed me, did he?

Courtesy of the Juju Man:

If I could be a scientist, I would start a vicious underground movement to stop research in the anti-aging field. Humans are not meant to live forever, and eternal life would mean the end of us as a species. We are not yet through evolving.

If I could be a farmer, I would build myself a veranda, with a porch swing, where I could listen to cicadas, watch my milk-cows fall asleep at sunset, and drink mint juleps. Naked.

If I could be a musician, I would never stop playing. I would be the hit of every campfire, the center of attention, just me and my bagpipes.

If I could be a doctor, I would see Catfish more often, I’ll wager.

If I could be a painter, I would never contact the NEA for money. I would try to paint stuff people would enjoy, and put high value on, and keep the experimental stuff where it belongs, in the lab.

If I could be a gardener, I would plant azaleas.

If I could be a missionary, I would only do it doggie-style, and giggle at the irony.

If I could be a chef, I would spend all my energy elevating those two highest forms of cuisine, the hush puppy and the buttermilk biscuit, to the respected position in the culinary world that they so deserve.

If I could be an architect, I would try to bring gables back into fashion.

If I could be a linguist, I would translate this blog into latin, hebrew, and aramaic for posterity.

If I could be a psychologist, I would know why I can’t get out of bed before noon.

If I could be a librarian, I would underline the dirty parts of every book in the building.

If I could be an athlete, I wouldn’t take steroids, unless of course everyone else was doing it.

If I could be a lawyer, I would have the worst won-loss record since the ‘87 Braves.

If I could be an innkeeper, I wouldn’t take yankees. They’re rude, messy, and they don’t tip.

If I could be a professor, I would be the most unpopular person in the faculty lounge, owing to my obsession with fart jokes.

If I could be a writer, I would probably get picked every now and then to write blog novella chapters, instead of the tight little clique of glory hogs and suck-ups that now dominate them.

If I could be a backup dancer, I would spend a lot of time explaining to people that no, I’m not gay.

If I could be a llama-rider, I would join the llama-riders’ union and try to organize surreal steeple chases near Macchu Picchu.

If I could be a bonnie pirate, I would constantly be doing old Abbot and Costello routines with my trained parrot, Muffin. I would be the straight man.

If I could be a midget stripper, I would only strip midgets who had given me their permission beforehand, in writing.

If I could be a proctologist, I would come up with lots of jokes to take the edge off. “So,” I would say, “You meet a lot of assholes in this job, too, you know.” Stuff like that.

If I could be a TV-Chat Show host, I would blind-side child actors and fluff guests with loaded questions about the Palestinian-Israeli conflict.

Now, I guess I have to pass it to 3 more people:

Sandy, of the Dirty Ashtray
Zonker, of the genetically engineered mutant turbo-liver
Mr. Dax Montana, overlord of the pimptastical bombastical red hat brigade

Not that they’ll do it, lazy toids.