The Rage: Resurrected

You know how one day you're the handsomest person ever to walk the crummy planet and the next day you have a shiner? Yes, I know you have no idea about the former but imagine.

The rumors are true. I am in fact sporting a black eye and what now appears to be a green forehead. But really, if anyone can carry this off and still look this good, it's me.

To set the record straight, here is what happened.

On my usual canvass of the neighborhood, patrolling for unruly unwashed masses bunching around tree stumps, drinking moonshine and generally rabble rousing of a nature of which I reject, I was ambushed. Heimlich was picking daisies for a floral arrangement he's been working on so he didn't see the villain approach. It was a sneak attack of the sneakiest kind. The ground opened up in front of me and before I knew it, I was face forward. My precious blood was spilled. Heimlich was horrified and vomited on the spot. (He's very sensitive, as well as evil.)

That's really all I remember. The first night was rough as I moved in and out of THE RAGE. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that ground and my perfectly contoured face meeting it.

The pain that followed was indescribable. I feared for my very large and powerful brain. Luckily my crack team of medical experts helicoptered me immediately to the top secret medical facility which I will not name, for testing. After CAT scans of my very large and powerful brain, it was concluded that my head was in fact too hard to penetrate and my very large and powerful brain was in tact. This was good news all around. I can assure you I would have continued world domination even with a brain injury.

Which brings me to today. Four days since my attack, I can report that I am nearly pain free, save for blowing my nose which is exceptionally excruciating and disappointing since it's one of my favorite activities. Fear not, my attacker will pay for this brazen act of insubordination. In due time. When you least expect it, ground, you will pay.

Never underestimate THE RAGE.

I've been busy

You know how one day you're the mayor, and four days later some punk usurps your post? Who am I kidding? You have no idea what it's like to hold a position of authority.

Let me paint a picture.

I became Mayor of a local high-class establishment through the popular Foursquare. I have resisted these ridiculous social sucks on my time until I found out Mayorship was at stake. How can Foursquare hand out important titles to the unwashed masses with such abandon? It's irresponsible.

Nevertheless I engaged in your reindeer games and naturally assumed my Mayorship in no time. My chest puffed with pride. Drinks were raised in my honor. Immediately my giant brain began to consider the possibilities of world domination via Mayorships. It's a little small scale for my taste, tres medieval these Mayorships but I was down with the concept of being in charge and other people knowing full well that I am the boss.

Speaking of which, I decided that Boss should be the next level up from Mayor. I will write Foursquare later with this brilliant idea.

Back to my Mayorship. I didn't take my superior position lightly. After celebrating with my minions, I raced home to devise a plan. World domination requires premeditation. It's true I was sequestered for some days working feverishly on the rights and obligations of the unwashed masses in my kingdom (to be honest, the rights were none but obligations many--as it should be).

Four days later, I emerged from my top secret headquarters with my Mayoral Manifesto. It is too brilliant to lay on your tiny brains and a summation won't do my genius justice.

And so, I checked in on my kingdom, elated at the prospect of creating order out of what clearly was human chaos. Rules, people, rules are made by me for you to follow. But lo and behold some villain has usurped my Mayorship! Andrew K. from Brooklyn! Scoundrel! Bastard! Son of a whore! (I realize those last two are similar.) You fool, do you have any idea what my tyrannical mind is capable of? Find your friends, indeed. Oh, I'll find you, Andrew K. from Brooklyn.

Needless to say, I was pissed. I've drafted several letters to Foursquare demanding a recount. Andrew K. from Brooklyn? Give me a break. Listen you little Ross Perot upstart, I will crush you with the ferocity of my tiny fists. Unleash the hellhounds!

Nice work, Foursquare. I've been peaceful for months and now this. The Rage.

Merry Christmas.