Several of my readers have asked me about my skincare routine and how I got such a perfect, glowing complexion that looks as though I washed it in the dews of Mount Olympus. No, my father did not have an affair with Aphrodite! At first I was reluctant to comply, but then I realized that under the Freedom of Information Act, I am legally bound to tell everyone in the entire world all the minutia of my life at all times, and skincare is no different. So without further ado, I give you…MY MORNING RITUAL.
Scream in agony at the thought of getting out of bed.
Ask myself, “Am I famous yet?”
Make kale juice. Choke it down.
Ask myself, “Am I rich yet?”
Wander into the bathroom and stare haggardly at my wizened face.
Warm up my Silicone-Injector-O-Matic.
Read a few chapters of Nietzsche while doing headstands.
Inject fresh, hot silicone into my lips, cheeks, forehead wrinkles, etc.
Ask myself, “What is the meaning of life?”
Answer with my eyes closed.
Get on the bus.
Squeeze between a homeless person and a cloyingly professional Man in Business Suit.
Cower in visceral hatred of humanity.
Get off bus.
Accidentally be blown into the frigid Chicago River because of 1498 mph winds.
Get fished out, half-dead.
Admire the rosy glow brought to my cheeks by the icy shock of the water.
See, it’s easy!