Honors I’ll take a pass on
Harvard called to say they’d probably offer me a job next week. But I’d have to agree to a tour of campus and brunch at the faculty club first. I said probably is no good and took a pass. Thanks anyway!
I’m sure I made the right call. Who needs a campus tour? Professors don’t require any knowledge of the buildings or their locations. Only my driver needs to know that. Besides, the faculty club looks like a dump. I’d rather enjoy brunch at The Hilton’s continental breakfast bar.
They have all-you-can eat pancakes, and 12 kinds of syrup.
And they serve mimosas.
God, I love mimosas.
Besides, I don’t want to have boring conversations with other faculty about their research. I’d rather just read by myself, mostly about myself.
My fiance said he’d probably propose to me this weekend, but I’d have to go away with him on a yacht. I’d have to spend all weekend drinking champagne and letting him go down on me.
Not only that, but we’d have to do a big photo shoot against the ocean horizon, and jointly announce the engagement on our Facebook accounts. So I told him I was way too busy. If he wants to put a ring on it, that’s fine with me. But I hate yachts. And I definitely needed no less than $10K for my wedding gown, which should have real feathers from exotic birds on it, and an old fashioned whale bone corset, all imported from Africa.
He started crying like a little girl, so I took a pass. Farewell, my little snowflake fiance. Fake fiance. Thanks anyway!
That’s not all. I’ve turned down so many honors. So many. I’m just the greatest. Everyone wants to award me things. So many offers for awards. I don’t even have time to respond to them all.
Like this morning, I got a text message from the Carnegie Foundation. They want to give me a one million dollar grant to write poems about people I hate. You know, I might take them up on that. But they’ll have to wait until I’m done writing this post!
My university emailed that I’d probably win teacher of the year again, but I’d have to attend their lame awards ceremony and write a speech. Can you believe it? I said no to the speech and took a pass.
There’s no reason for me to sit through an hour of watching other people win awards before they finally present mine. They begged me. They got down on their knees and begged. It was on the phone, so I couldn’t see them do it. But I could definitely hear them getting down on their knees.
They said they save the most important award for last. But you know what? That’s a dumb rule. Anyone who says that is a liar. See ya later, losers!
Last week, the MacArthur committee called to say I’d probably win a genius award, but first they needed to verify my identity and explain the terms of the grant to me. I think it included funding to write a book, with a pro forma publication deal with Oxford University Press. But I told ’em all to slow down there. Nobody tells me what to do.
I’m my own woman. If they want to give me a bunch of money, great. But write a whole book? No thanks, nerds!
Believe me, I’m one of the great minds of the century. But a book? Nobody reads those anymore. I disperse my infinite knowledge in concise, 280-character truth bombs. Do you know that term, truth bomb? It’s probably one of the three greatest sayings I’ve come up with recently.
