In the year “future”, a team of really smart men will put together the perfect human being. This man will stand amongst men and have them fall on their knees and feel the manliness course through their bodies. This man will be the muse for many of the modern artists. He is the perfect build, height, and weight. His mind will outdo even the smartest computers and, let me tell ya, there sure are a lot of smart computers in Smartown, U.S.A. But a crisis will arise, and as the only way to save planet Earf, (it’s what they call it in the future. Don’t judge me, it’s just how the way things are) really smart men will send back their ultimate man creation in a time warp (which hovers over Marlon Brando’s gravesite) to nip the crisis in the bud. In doing so, they have to put on a permanent fat suit and make him look like Mr. Random Bag Check.

It’s been forty-seven years since the really smart scientists sent the ultimate man back, and everything is well. But as for me, I met the ultimate one day about two weeks ago and in the words of Public Enemy, “Don’t believe the hype.” I, sirs and mad hams, am a Highlander. I have walked the earth for 437 years. I have had over 98 battles with many Highlanders great and small. I am trained in every fighting style imaginable, from drunken boxing to the Shaolin Monkey Tailfist. I am an expert in every type of weaponry imaginable. From the Bo Staff to the razor blade hubcaps, I can eliminate any opponent under twelve years old in less than fourteen minutes. I have seen some of the most wondrous creations made by the hands of men whether it is the Great Wall of Japan, the Sphinx of the South, or the 40 Elvis impersonators doing a parachute dive in the Nevada desert. I decided to join this troupe because of my love of making people laugh until they begin crying. Then I take a picture of them with tears in their eyes and I laugh on the inside. I have made love to no women because out of respect I don’t want to catch any diseases like Hepatitis H, the Gulf Syndrome, or the emotional attachment of a non-Highlander woman. I don’t need things of that nature in my life. For the last year or eight I have been practicing using the art of Kung-fu and brush strokes to help rid of this world of ridiculous pop music, but it seems like every time I try, I get beat down by the man, Sean Puffy P Diddy Diddy Combs, or, as his mother calls him, Lamar Burton of the Alpha Rangers Omega Tribe Dream. Hopefully my path of righteousness and the talent of singing off-key to the ears of suffering manatees will all come into play one day. On that day my friends, a beam of light will shine through my body and create an environment where all children, men, and some women, will hold hands and sing a very strong ballad written by Dennis D. Young of Styx that will literally melt the hearts of the aliens who surround us with their invisibility power.

Thank you for reading my life story and I hope your time was wasted because this is a pretty ridiculous story.