not on top

Last night, I made a promise to myself.

I said (aloud), "Kenny, whatever you do, whoever you do, never become a person who writes about celebrity happenings, because no matter how funny it is, it's overdone to the point of unoriginal."

I think I came upon this thought after snurgling this week's issue of The Onion, which after a severe and unpleasant format change, has become more difficult to read but now features weekly hate from Amelie Gillette, who is a genius in my book but has not had a warm welcoming to some in the Madison circle jerk, and the comic strip Cathy. In Spanish. That strip confuses me in a strange, amusing and confusing way. They're making fun of Cathy by publishing it, right? Wouldn't the writer realize this, as Cathy is known far-and-wide for its suckiness? Why would the writer then agree to have it published? In Spanish? For the money? Someone, please explain this to me.

That said, it pains me to share this with you. Last night, I had a dream ("Yes, I had a dream, too, Dr. Martin LOSER King!") featuring State Street area Madison but it wasn't Madison where there was a collegey kind of bar and UW souveneiger shop who had a cashier/bartender person by the name of Brad Pitt. No shit. Some fraternity pledge came in an started accusing Brad Pitt of being uptight, trying to start a fight, but Brad was ignoring him. So, my alter-ego, super-sexy, Super Kenny steps in to save the day. I say, "No, man. YOU'RE uptight." The frat boy shrank in fear of me, put his hands around his own throat, and started choking as he stumbled out of the front door of the bar. Then, Brad Pitt flashes a pantydropping smile at me, says his thank-you, and proceeds to give my friend his telephone number. I tell ya, folks. I get no respect. Not even during the REM phases of my sleep cycle.