Why I’ll never be a keynote speaker

Like many self-flagellating Americans, I have checked in on both mainstream political party conventions. I particularly like the fact that these ‘cirque du DULLe’ spectacles come on late in the evening and save me a lots of coin on ZzzQuil and warm milk. Now honestly, I think it takes a lot of guts to emphatically expel indiscernible grunts  in front of mobs of people wearing weird hats and carrying signs – if you don’t believe me, just ask Frankenstein!

Also don’t get me wrong, I am not afraid of speaking in front of large groups of sweaty, disinterested, and insane people filled with fiery rhetoric, after all I’m still the spokesman for my homeowner’s association. In fact, to my father’s chagrin, my mother was a champion debater in college and spoon-fed me early-on to speak freely with a flavor-laced forked, yet tender, tongue. Once my horns grew in as a 'deviled HAM' , I too was a decent debater in school and grew increasingly comfortable with subjecting others to the horrors of my oratory offerings.

Though despite my incredible aptitude for the platitude, sadly I’ll never be called upon to be a keynote speaker at a dog eat dog political gathering full of howling woofer wonks and squealing tweeter types. Oh sure, just like everyone else with a orotund open orifice of odor and emanations, my reptilian brain has a few right-minded ramblings to relate. But unlike those podium pros you knows, the truth is that I usually tire of listening to myself mutter far more quickly than the floor’s first comfortless cough cracks the calm. 

The truth is I just wouldn’t fit in with these modern talkers anyway. Despite my mirthful musings I still come from a primal time where what I say and the way I say it actually means something and I’m DUTY bound to fulfill my spoken promise. You see I know it is best to leave the ear blithering and bleating to those puerile pointy-headed politicians who strive to show us all so eloquently what ‘sweet nothings’ ACTUALLY sound like when deafening our ears.  Like most folks here in the Midwest, I prefer to put out only my ‘CLEAN’ undies on the clothes line for public display – not the useless ones graphically revealing the transparent holes in ‘em!