One of the most wonderful and admirable things about me is that I don't allow my vast superiority over everyone else in the world go to my head. In fact, my practically super-human humility is almost as legendary as my utter greatness.
Just the other day, I was regailing my lucky friend Bob with robust tales of how much better I am than he was, when suddenly he interrupted with, "Pffft! You really think you're 'hot (beep)', don't you?"
Needless to say, this outburst was rather unexpected. "Why, of course not," I said, taken aback. "It's only my utter perfection that compels me to tell the truth rather than insult your lesser intelligence by denying or falsely downplaying my extreme greatness."
Of course, anyone with the slightest iota of my vast mental capacity would immediately see the total logic of this statement and wholeheartedly agree. But, sadly, Bob lacked such insight and remained sullen and resentful. I patiently explained to him that for me to try and convey such things to a creature of his lower mental stature was akin to him attempting to communicate in a substantive and meaningful way with a retarded tree sloth. Satisfied that my analogy was clearly understandable and my reasoning beyond reproach, I happily waited for him to burst into giggles of joyful enlightenment. Still, he doggedly persisted in regarding me with a dull, jealous petulance.
Finally realizing that any further attempt to reason with him would be utterly futile, I regretfully brought my shoulder-fired M-47 DRAGON Guided Missile Launcher to bear and blew Bob to smithereens. It was really loud for a moment, and the echo reverberated throughout the countryside for several seconds. But afterward came a sweet, blissful silence. Birds began to chirp gaily in the trees--"is that a titwillow?" I thought, cocking an ear--and from somewhere off in the distance came the comfortingly familiar sound of rabid dogs viciously attacking a group of schoolchildren who had been cavorting on the playground between classes.
I smiled as their distant screams wafted around my ears, along with the horrendous, throaty growls of the mindless canines. "Goodness, how distressed they sound!" I said to myself, shaking my head in amusement. It occurred to me that if I simply rotated my head approximately fifteen degrees to the left, I would have a clear view of the distant carnage, which might prove momentarily entertaining. But, it was beneath my notice. I was too busy observing a nearby flock of quacking ducks waddling by a pond and wondering what they would look like if they all had Al Gore heads.
Using a mere fraction of my astounding intellect, I learned the ducks' language simply by listening to a few seconds of it. "Hello, ducks," I said cheerily. "Are you surprised to hear a human being talking to you in your own duck language?"
"We sure are!" quacked one of the ducks, clearly the spokesman for the group, as the others flapped their wings in agreement. "Wow--you must have an astounding intellect!"
"Oh, ha ha," I blushed, embarrassed. "Well, yes--it's actually quite mind-boggling. Say, have you ever wondered what it would look like if you all had Al Gore heads?"
"We sure have!" the duck exclaimed. "We were just thinking about that when suddenly our attention was diverted by those rabid woof-woofs attacking that flock of human fledglings!" All of this, of course, was conveyed by a rapid-fire series of quacks that only I could interpret.
"I noticed that as well," I quacked, suddenly tiring of the exchange. Using only the parts from my transistor radio, I hastily constructed a makeshift time machine and transported myself backward in time five minutes so that I could avoid ever meeting those boring ducks. There was a flash of sparkly white light, and when my vision cleared, I was standing there talking to Bob once again.
"Pffft! You really think you're 'hot (beep)', don't you?" he blathered, stupidly unaware of everything that had just transpired.
"Oh, not really," I replied modestly, glancing at you, the reader, with a sly wink. "But I do have my moments...in time."
"What the hell's that s'posed to mean?"
Patiently, I explained to him what had recently occurred, including the part about the ducks and the time machine, as several children ran past us screaming in abject terror with frothing, rampaging rabid dogs hot on their heels. Presently I realized that I was talking to my friend in duck language and that he hadn't comprehended a single one of my eloquent quacks. So, in lieu of repeating myself, I regretfully brought my shoulder-fired M-47 DRAGON Guided Missile Launcher to bear and blew Bob to smithereens again.
Since then, I've relived that series of events repeatedly and blown Bob to smithereens over a hundred times. I'll stop doing it one of these days and let Bob live, but I just haven't gotten tired of it yet. The look on his face when that missile comes screaming out of the launch tube is priceless. And, over time, I've even grown increasingly fond of the ducks. One thing you gotta say for them--ducks recognize greatness when they see it.
As for the children, I'm actually considering calling Animal Control in advance to ward off the rabid dogs before they get a chance to attack. I know what you're thinking--and yes, I humbly agree. That's just the kind of incomprehensibly wonderful person I am.
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