The Difference Between Stuff I Like And Stuff I Don't Like

I'm here to talk about the difference between things I like and things I don't like. A lot of people have asked me if there's a distinct difference between things I like and things I do not care for. Here is a handy primer.

Things that I like all possess a certain majesty, a certain operatic excess of spirit. A good example of this is the ball-point pen I use to write angry notes to my neighbors in which I angrily invite them to my barbecues. There is a certain baroque, operatic quality to the things I like that is largely absent from the things I don't like. For instance, the guy at the donut shop with a weird ducktail hairdo is very baroque and operatic in spirit. You can tell that within him lie great passions, frustrations and rages, and that he has probably spent time in juvie for pushing over an ice cream truck. I also find that things I like are very graceful and smooth yet sassy, like if someone turned Grace Jones into a chocolate mousse. Something else that is graceful and smooth yet sassy is the monkey that sits at the foot of my bed every night and sends telepathic warnings of my upcoming death. Look at his little tail!

But boy, I tell you. Those things in life I don't like? Brother, don't get me storted! Stirted! Sturted! (What's the expression again?) The things I don't like tend to be boorish, tactless. Falling into this category is local weatherman Jeff Bethere, who insists on leaving his blinds closed during intimate moments with his gardener and mail carrier. Does he not realize that sex is meant to be shared, public, and disgusting? I also don't like things that have a desperate, keening quality to them, as if they are helpless babies crying out for suckling. This definitely describes the cat who walks around my neighborhood eating the roast chickens I place on street corners for local toddlers to nest inside of. Can they not kill, cook and prepare their own roasted deli meats? How else do these cats expect area children to learn how to hide from collections agencies and parole officers? For shame!

Anyway, I hope this sums up the standards I hold for everyday life. If you have any further questions in this regard, ask someone who cares! (Namely, my literary agent Dawn Mackley, who is a delightfully empathetic person.)