After watching the film 'The Town' I've finally discovered my true calling. No, not acting. Ha, nice pipe dream, Goober McDreams-a-lot-and-needs-to-stop-Dreamington.
No, I'm talking about Robbing Banks. I'm going to become a Bank Robber.
I realized, after watching that flick, that there's just so many things I share in common with that profession that it would be stupid not to go into it. Just check out these morsels:
THEY'RE TOUGH. I'M tough. I had to go number 1 reaaallly bad for the last 7 or so minutes of the movie and I held it! Boom goes the dynamite next to the vault. See? Starting off strong, my little hairless marsupials.
THEY YELL A LOT. Bingo. I yell constantly. I grew a nodule on my vocal chord cause of my affinity for it, fer cryssakes! I'll scream in your face from 2 inches away and you'll love me for it. 'Six-inch-inside-voices' children? Try '200-yard-outside-scream-until-my-head-gets-red-and-then-blows-up-voice' beotches. I ain't scared of no nodule.
THEY'RE INTENSE. So am I! Ask anyone that's ever known me. I'm super intense and everything is a matter of life and not-life to me. If the King of Burgers gives me one more Whopsies with onion when I clearly ask for no-onion, I'll not only take the onion off of the Whops, but then I'll place it FIRMLY into the trash. And I WON'T be smiling, cause that was NOT my way.
THEY DRIVE FAST. Ok, this is where I could really do some Van-Dammage. I've been known to putter about in my expo, it's true, but with the right outfit on, yelling crazy curses and directions at the top of my lungs, having just placed an onion FIRMLY into the trash and behind the wheel of a soccer mom's minivan we're going to burn after we've made it to the safe house? That's a win for the good guys, I'd say. Which brings me to...
THEY BURN THINGS. Cars. Evidence. Yes, I burn the toast, but who doesn't? What's even better? I GET burned. By the sun. I get really red and then I even peel. Most people know better by now. Not me. This was a match made in heaven, I'm telling you, I was born to rob the hell outta banks.
THEY DON'T TAKE NO CRAP FROM NOBODY. Like the saying from 'Cool Runnings'. This is my specialty, folks. As soon as someone's about to give me crap, I get ready to not to take it. I just don't take crap. They can give it to me, but then I'll just give it right back, like that Mambo Number 5 CD I never opened from Gremmie and then I gave to Judy at work for the Secret Santa deal. I just don't take it.
THEY GET IN TOO DEEP. One time in high school, me and my friends were practicing car tricks out in a muddy field in the middle of nowhere before cell phones were invented and we got stuck. I now see we were just practicing to be bank robbers. I basically ALREADY rob banks, really. Go stuff yourself.
THEY NEVER OPEN THE MOST IMPORTANT LOCKS THEMSELVES, DO THEY? No, and neither do I. I've got triple AAA for that.
THEY LOVE SHOOTING STUFF. I do, too. I could shoot the breeze all day. Just all day long, shooting away. Oh, wait? Shooting guns? Holy crap, those are serious. No, I don't shoot those. But the breeze? All day.
AND FINALLY, THEY LIKE TO DRESS UP. This just in...so do I. I wear crazy stuff all the time, including, but not limited to, jorts, filthy v's, flatties and hearts on my sleeve. Imagine an '80's coach' robbing a bank. Never even see it coming.
So, in conclusion, I've found my calling. All the signs point to me doing this from here on out.
Sure, I'm collegiately trained to draw and design for a living, and sure, I'm not really THAT into stealing (except if it's from that Salvation Army store cause they don't electronically tag their clothes...jackpot. Again, stuff yourself). But I am ready to give it a go.
Plus I can do a mean 'Bastan' accent and they all seem to have those, too.
No comments:
Post a Comment