The press has latched on to my announcement that Amazon plans to use drones for delivery, but I don’t think they’ve quite grasped the significance. By stationing pods of the small aircraft throughout major metropolitan areas, we can get average delivery time down to about two minutes. Imagine the possibilities! About to be in a bar fight? Order the Terminator 15,000,000 V Stun Gun with LED Flashlight on Amazon for only $8.50—we’ll have it there before the first punch is thrown.
And really, we offer an incredible selection of products. A plastic carton filled with 1,500 live ladybugs! A Sigmund Freud action figure! A 55-gallon drum of water-based lubricant! Inflatable plastic toast! A yodeling pickle! Four ounces of pure coyote urine!
What conceivable use would anybody have for this stuff? Who the hell knows! The point is that they can get it right now.
I confess to being…flabbergasted. At first I thought you were kidding, but our fact-checkers indeed found all of the aforementioned products for sale on your website. Are you proud of yourself, sir?
I know I had some strong criticisms for the faithful recently about the excesses of capitalism, and I stand by them. But I admit that my rhetoric might’ve been a little overheated. The day I wrote that, I had this hankering for jujubes, but when I went down to the minimart a few blocks from St. Peter’s Square, they were sold out! They always have jujubes there. Hence the rhetoric about “naïve trust in…the sacralized workings of the prevailing economic system.”
Millions of Catholics around the world will, I’m sure, appreciate the clarification. But the damage is done. In response to your exhortation, the owner of the Italian patent for jujubes, a highly religious man, has shuttered his factories, taken a vow of poverty, and pledged to spend his days advocating global justice and inclusiveness. You will have to switch to imported Sour Patch Kids.
Let me be clear: There will be no Obama third term, no matter what Hannevinbaugh are saying on their respective airwaves these days. Why would I want this job for four more years? The whole point of becoming president is so that one can become an ex-president, which, really, is the best gig in the world, bar none. All the prestige, none of the hassle.
I’m going to do a world golf tour, playing on one course in every country. I’m going to smoke so many cigarettes. I’m going to work on a new novel about two young star-crossed centaurs in love. Vampires are trendy right now, but centaurs are on their way in.
Delightful news! Statistical analysis shows that American presidential third terms are strongly correlated with surprise attacks by Japanese Zeros. Hence, the 22nd Amendment. Fourth terms are correlated with charming tea parties in Yalta, but I do not think them worth the risk. Speaking of centaurs, have you yet located Secretary Kerry’s missing lower half?
What are the rules of regifting in D.C.? We did a secret Santa exchange among cabinet and administration folks, and some jerk gave me a gift card for hummus. (I bet it was Michelle.) Anyway, Eric Holder’s birthday is coming up, and I’m thinking about passing it on. But what if word gets back to the person who originally gifted it to me? Or worse, what if Holder opens my card at his party and, while Michelle is standing there, exclaims something like: “A gift card for hummus! How did you know?!” Then word gets around that old Arne is an ungrateful rat who doesn’t even like Middle Eastern food, and there goes my shot at an ambassadorship.
Secretary of Education
The bigger question is whether you want your name attached to this putrid pea-paste. Bestowing such an insult anonymously is one thing; slapping a man in the face after looking him in the eye is another thing entirely. Besides, a gift is supposed to be thoughtful. Does Eric Holder seem like a man who enjoys a good slurp of liquefied legumes? Get him some mustache wax instead.
Failing upward has been a specialty of mine. Two years ago, I was a nobody, just another regular guy snorting cocaine off the supple midriff of a very drunk Benihana waitress in a filthy bathroom stall at an illegal cockfight held in the basement of a burned-out building in Regent Park social housing. Now I’ve got a TV show and a radio show. But I can’t figure out what my next move should be.
Start a hedge fund to invest in hedges. Shrubs and small topiaries will work, too. When global warming thaws the Yukon, the lawn and garden business is simply going to boom!