Editorial Contrition

Sorry About All That

Mike Walsh

Folks, I've been feeling guilty about a lot of things lately, and I'd like to take this opportunity to clear my conscience.
First of all, sorry for not being a people person.
Sorry for not being rich yet.
Sorry for feeling so sick all the time.
Sorry for making all those personal calls at work.
And about all those hangovers, and getting up so late, and lying around the house all day reading magazines.
And about bouncing so many checks
and for accumulating all those parking tickets
and only paying the minimum on my credit card bills.
Sorry for not flossing
and for missing all those PBS specials, and for immediately opening every newspaper to the sports page instead of the review of books, and for not seeing the face of Jesus on the side of my toaster-oven.
And, of course, there's the budget deficit
And the trade imbalance, for power walking, tie-dye, insider trading. Did I mention that I was sorry for not living up to my potential as an Elvis impersonator? And for not relating to my peers and for subscribing to Consumer Reports.
Sorry that BMWs don't deliver the fulfillment promised in their ads.
Oh, yeah, sorry about all that 3rd World debt, and the new class of poor, and well, there's Black Monday, the S&L scandal, for letting Exxon get away with it. And all those defense contractors on the take -- did I apologize for that yet? I'm feeling guilty just thinking about these things.

Folks, I'm real embarrassed about all this.
I know I'm somehow responsible for all these problems. I'm sorry. Please, somebody, forgive me.
Sorry about all those racial problems,
and well, there's that tiny little hole in the Ozone level, the crack babies, those wacky contras, and Stephen Freind.
For Jane Fonda, Pia, Sting, Bono, Frank Sinatra Jr., and Peter Tork
For liposuction, Bhopal, self-actualization, quality time, Bess Myerson, plausible deniability, the children of the Woodstock generation, job enrichment, Joey Heatherton.
I really mean it this time.
I've always tried to avoid the appearance of impropriety. I'm sorry. I wish it weren't true. Oh, why me, Lord, why me? My head hurts. Sorry, but I'll tamper with my own Tylenol capsules thank you.
Sorry for being so completely underwhelmed about everything.
Sorry that we keep funding those billion dollar defense systems that we don't need. Sorry that the cost of a single Stealth bomber could feed Central America for years. Sorry for those stiffer sentences for drug addicts, who can then continue their addictions in prison without treatment.
Folks, I'm sorry, but I'm an old dog and I ain't learning any new tricks.
This isn't Kansas anymore, Trigger's dead, and Sally Starr and Mr. Green Jeans are gone. I'm sorry -- I wish it weren't true.
God is in heaven, good people, but all is not well in Mudville.
In fact, Mudville is a godawful mess. Look, I know, nobody said it would be easy, but nobody said it would be pathetic either.
So my advice is this: set your house in order, Ladies and Gentlemen.
Deliver yourselves from unpleasantness. Make amends before it's too late! This is your final warning. Repent, you fucking savages, repent!!!

This end is near. We can't be getting any closer to the beginning, can we?

Other pieces by Mike Walsh.

[TiltHome] [GipperIssue] [EarlyMadness] [No.5] [No.6] [No.7] [No.8] [No.9] [No.10]
PenisPage] [PeoplePage] [FeaturedWriters] [StoryCollection] [ExpressoPoems] [TheFunnies]