The American dream is a pretty simple concept. You get a job that affords you to buy a house and have a family. It’s a formula that has worked for millions of people. It worked for my parents and their parents and their grandparents (and I could go on … I’m serious … if you don’t give in to my demands, I’ll do it). Many people are happy with their accomplishments when they die. They may have kept a steady job for most of their life, raised kids who now have families of their own, and saved enough money to live comfortably in retirement. I don’t want to do this. I want the money now. I can certainly use it, but it is also a part of my American dream. I have big plans for the money. I’m not just going to go to Palm Springs and play golf. I’m going to build an empire. The Brian Kirwan empire will create films, music, television, and art. It will give to and work with many charity organizations. I will not be so generous (and stupid) as M.C. Hammer and give all my millions away to my “friends.” I will know exactly where my money is going. I will make investments to make sure it grows as large as it can. All I need is Michael Eisner or Steven Spielberg to call me or write me on the Internet. It could happen.
How about those darn cats? I have two. They’re actually my step-cats. They were my wife’s cats. Both cats are girls. One cat is named Truck because my wife wanted a truck but got a cat instead. The other cat is named Sister because she’s Truck’s sister. Truck is, how shall I put this as not to offend the overweight of the world, fat. She has a glandular problem. When Truck was young, she would come running for the food (so much for the “glandular problem” theory). Sister didn’t usually come to eat until later. My wife would say to Truck, “Where’s your sister?” (of course, expecting Truck to suddenly gain vocal cords and a knowledge of the English language as most deranged people who live with cats do). I think you can figure out where Sister got her name. Sister is a normal cat (or at least as normal as cats get). She climbs up on roofs and cries (actually meows psychotically) to be let down, but she looks normal on the outside.
Truck is a three-legged cat. A dog got possession of her fourth leg. She had the fourth leg for a bit, but she chewed it off the night after the accident. And that’s your bedtime story, kids. Goodnight. When you first see her walk, she looks pathetic, hopping on her one back leg. She also has a drooling problem and a shoe fetish. Because of her missing foot, she can’t clean herself, especially on her back. As a result, she smells. It is as if the dog who chewed her leg off (or at least started the process) transformed her into a dog. She drools, can’t clean herself, and has a dog sounding name. The only difference is she’s a cat, which makes her a cut above all dogs.
In case you couldn’t tell from the last paragraph, I think cats are better pets than dogs. We had a dog when I was a child I never really liked. It was a long-haired wiener dog with an annoyingly loud bark he showed the world 74 times a day. I always told my parents I would never have chosen such an ugly, annoying, and short dog. The dog even bit my ear once. We were playing around in a blanket and he bit my ear. That was the last time I played with him. I have met dogs I thought were good dogs, but dogs, in general, are not the pets cats are. Cats are self-cleaning (normally), don’t drool (normally), don’t jump on you, don’t bother you as much, don’t get as big, and don’t eat as much. Cats are also softer than dogs, better behaved, and more intelligent. When a cat is happy, it purrs soothingly. When a dog is happy, it beats you or the ground with its tail, knocking things over. Show me a dog owner who likes dogs more than cats and I’ll show you someone who likes the idea of owning a dumb slave. (In case you couldn’t tell, the “someone” I was showing you was the dog owner. I just wanted to mention that for all the dog owners out there.) Cats have minds of their own. Like humans, they can decide to be bad or good. The only drawback with cats is they don’t get jobs as often as dogs.
I like foreign foods. The more foreign, the better. If I have to stab the food with a fork to kill it before I eat it, that’s exactly the dining experience I’m looking for. I have had frogs legs, snails (the French version I can’t spell), caviar, pate, these Chinese crackers with little fish mixed in with them, strange looking mushrooms (the legal kind), and Sushi, but would still like to try tongue, monkey brains, rabbit, and ostrich. I’m not a vegetarian. Can you tell? I gave up sugar for 8 years. I have willpower. I wouldn’t give up meat, though. I don’t see a reason to give up meat and don’t think it would be as easy as giving up sugar. I’m a mellow person. If I gave up meat, I’d probably keel over dead from the lack of aggression. Foreign foods (to get back to the original topic) are literally and figuratively the spices of life. I didn’t really like the Chinese crackers with little fish mixed in with them or most of the strange-looking mushrooms I ate, but I’m glad I tried them. In this one area, I am an adventurous person. The rest of life is a different obituary.
I need a vacation. We all need a vacation (except people on a vacation right now). Let’s all go on vacation! First one on the boat’s a rotten employee! I can’t afford a vacation. I can’t afford to not work and I can’t afford the cost of the vacation itself. I could take a vacation in my mind, but I would feel and probably look stupid doing it. I could take a cheap weekend vacation, but that wouldn’t be enough to satisfy me. I’d be so tired when I went back to work that I’d need one of those vacations from my vacation. In the end, I need to make each day a vacation. That’s the optimistic way of looking at things. No, that’s the idiotic way of looking at things. The only people who have vacations every day have jobs they enjoy. I’m not bitter. Quit staring at me! I’m going to take a vacation from writing this paper. Happy Holidays!
Thoughts from Life 
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