Tuesday, March 11, 2014
PORFLE VS. OUTSIDE!!!
One reason I hate being outside is that if something is going to fall on your head, it has a chance of falling from a much greater height outside than it would in your house. That is, the greatest height from which, say, Oprah Winfrey could fall and hit you on the head inside your house would be from the ceiling. But if you're outside, Oprah Winfrey could fall out of an airplane without a parachute and hit you on the head and kill you.
And then you'd be known as "the guy who got killed by a falling Oprah Winfrey", and people would laugh at your demise. Oh sure, the more conscientious ones would feel bad and try to stifle their laughter, but they'd still laugh. Some people would even laugh during your funeral, and you wouldn't even be able to tell them to shut up. That's why I've hired people to attend my funeral and tell anyone who laughs to shut up. But there's no way I'll ever know if they actually show up or if they just keep the money and stay home. So I may have to hire people to make sure they do, but there's no way I'll ever know if they will.
Another bad thing about being outside is that this is where most train wrecks, plane crashes, and high-speed vehicular collisions occur. There just aren't that many headlines about people getting killed while watching TV, even if they're watching a "Full House" marathon on TV Land. I feel pretty safe when I'm watching TV. Sometimes I hear scary noises, but they're usually coming from outside. See? Outside is where the scariest noises come from, which is another reason that outside is bad. If there are ever any scary noises that come from inside my house, I just look at my cat. If she isn't worried about them, then they're okay. If she runs under a table, then so do I. Cats are a good scary-noise-importance gauge.
One of the worst things about being outside is that this is when the flying monkeys can get you. Ever since the first time I watched THE WIZARD OF OZ as a child, I've been terrified that I'll be walking around outside minding my own business one day and the flying monkeys will swoop down and get me. And you can't arm yourself against them, either, because whenever you walk around in public holding a sawed-off shotgun or a big, spiky ninja sword, the police usually take it upon themselves to butt into your business with a bunch of personal questions, and these questions will eventually require an answer which includes the phrase "flying monkeys." Well, the police don't believe in flying monkeys. Not even the ones who have seen CORKY ROMANO.
Someone once told me that I had agoraphobia. I thought they said "angoraphobia" and modeled one of my favorite sweaters to disprove them. I really look lovely in it, too, if I do say so myself--especially with capri pants and a pair of spangled pumps. When I realized what agoraphobia was, I had to admit that I probably do have it. I went to my doctor and asked him what I could do about this, and he said "stay inside" and charged me sixty bucks. I could've just stayed home in the first place and used the sixty bucks to order pizza three times.
Home pizza delivery is great for agoraphobes. It's the only time that hearing the doorbell doesn't make me run under a table. "Yay! My pizza's here!" I scream, throwing the front door wide open and dancing around with animalistic glee. It's at this point I usually realize that I should've put on some pants or something first. But the look on the delivery lady's face is worth enduring her irritating screams of horror as she flees to her car and speeds haphazardly away down the street. And sometimes she just drops the pizza without making me pay for it, which is pretty neat.