My latest CL post....

I'm Perfect

No really I am. I'm sure you're skeptical, that's only reasonable, especially on Craigs List. And I'm not saying I'm perfect in a Platonic way, c'mon, those shapes only exist as imaginary mental constructs. No, I'm real here and now.

Let me list my perfect qualities for you:

I'm awake. Perfectly so. So many people say they're awake, but they're really asleep. Even if they're typing. Liars.

I can walk a straight line. Except when I'm drunk. But doing this sober is still quite a feat. I must be perfect.

I can whistle. Sure, you might say that I whistle off key, but that's only according to a modern conception of a well tempered 8 tone scale. My whistling is perfectly in tune with the spheres. If you listen closely, you can tell that Pluto is resonating.

I am perfectly inept at basketball...or baseball, or football, or any other sport, croquet included. Really, try me. I can prove it.

I know almost every word in the dictionary. Well, okay, that's a slight exaggeration. It really depends on what dictionary you use. In this case I approach perfection so closely, you need a microscope to tell the difference. Why, do you have a microscope?

I have perfect blemishes. No I don't have any Marilyn Monroe style beauty marks. What is up with those things anyway? But if you examine my various pimples, scars, and carbuncles, you will have to admit they are pretty ideal. I mean, have you ever sought to define the perfect zit? I have, and it's on my right shoulder.

My ignorance is perfect. It's not absolute, nosirree, but when I examine what I don't know, I can only conclude I don't know exactly the right things. Like who won Survivor...or what Paris Hilton's phone number is...or even who Brad Pitt is currently dating. Those are pretty perfect things not to know.

My inseam is perfect. 33 1/2 inches. Pictures can't capture its beauty. But truly, 32 inches, 34 inches...nothing else quite makes the cut.

I have the perfect cat. You'll agree, once you get to know her. See? Perfect, just like I said. Despite her intestinal problems.

So if I'm so perfect, why am I here? Because I think perfect people can have fun together. Are you perfect in these ways? Other ways? Maybe you're perfect in a way that will surprise me.

Perhaps you are perfect when you crawl out of bed with a hangover and stumble to the bathroom. There's an art to this. God knows I've tried. I'm working on it.

Perhaps you pick your nose with an unmatchable insouciance.

Perhaps you can hopscotch in such a way as to put all those eight-year olds to shame...It's possible.

Or perhaps you are simply, perfectly, inimitably yourself. That might be best of all, if not as showy.

But I'd like to meet you. If only to congratulate you on such perfection.

Let me know, and pics are appreciated.


Good, nu? Don't tell me. I'm full of myself.