Overnight Celebrity

Now that I'm a celebrity, I don't have to explain myself to anyone, which is pretty great. Being drunk at a Little League game--not any particular one, maybe, but one you see from your car and say, yeah, I could gamble on that--it doesn't make you crazy, but eccentric. When I attack someone holding a camera at the zoo, pretending to shoot the funny gorillas but I know they're really a paparazzo disguised as a grandfather, people say, "Well, it must be stressful, being constantly scrutinized." What's really cool though is that even the most despicable transgression will be forgotten magically if you spend a week in rehab, which I think is some sort of secret bar for famous people.

It wasn't always this way, but then I hooked up with Jennifer Aniston and everything changed.

She looks different in person, Jennifer. Her hair is blacker, and she is much more Asian than I remember from her photos. I also thought it was weird that she kept insisting that I call her Amy but, then, I just assumed she was researching a movie role. Very aggressive, too, this Jennifer Aniston, all hands and, man when she gets on you with that 230 lb frame, there's not much you can do about it--not that you would because, damn, that's Jennifer Aniston! "It's Amy," she bellows, and you just say, "Sure it is," and wink knowingly at her face-tattoo.

When I woke up, the change was almost instant. The guy at McDonald's insisted on calling me sir, and, for no apparent reason, I treated him with utter contempt. The only acceptable excuse for my language and facial expressions and spitting was that I was famous--that's when I knew I'd finally made it.

We always knew I'd be famous when I was a kid, so I wasn't really surprised. I remember on Sunday mornings I'd be doing my impression of Arnold Schwarzenegger, and the pastor would stop what he was doing and just watch me in disbelief, before asking me to take my seat in the pew. "Okay," I'd say, "But I'll be back." Then he'd just shake his head for a while, like, "whoa, that kid is talented."

Still, it was nice for all my hard work to finally pay off. All those weekday mornings when my girlfriend would say, "Seriously, get a job or it’s over," and I'd just sit there watching television and thinking, during the commercials, about how I could be the next Matt LeBlanc; All those hours I put into perfecting my "Mowing the lawn" routine, where I'd pick up the dog's hind legs and walk him around like a lawnmower;" All those times I went out of my way to scoff at the “normal” people, with “jobs” and “families.” I was a star in the making all along, so I guess I can't really be called an "overnight celebrity."

My future is bright now, and not in the way that a college graduate’s future is bright—my future is like really bright, filled with bright people with bright teeth doing shiny drugs off of shiny strippers.

Maybe I'll go fishing with Brody Jenner, or make a quilt with Bret Michaels. Maybe I'll go windsurfing with Jack Nicholson, or shoe-shopping with that guy whose penis was cut off by his wife, both of whom will now smile when they hear my name. Maybe I’ll grab a bottle of schnapps and teach Regis Philbin the finer points of gambling on T-Ball.

When I’m honest with myself though, I know there's nothing like a torrid love affair to jumpstart one's rise to fame, so I'll probably just go back to Applebee's.

Jennifer hangs out there most nights, you know.