|I should be so lucky.|
IMAGINARY FRIEND: THE USUAL UNUSUAL DISCLAIMER: I, Karma Girl’s Imaginary Friend, being of sound mind but no “body” because I’m a creature of imagination—and possibly, delusion—do solemnly swear to tell the banana, the whole banana, and nothing by the bana—Wait…who the hell wrote this bullshit disclaimer?
KARMA GIRL: How long have you been in the imaginary friend business?
IF: How long have you been drinking Schnapps?
KG: Am I your first “friend” or have there been others?
IF: You aren’t the first loser to dream me up, and you sure as hell won’t be the last. I’m an independent contractor, so I make my own schedule, which is good. Gives me lots of free time to trash talk you in front of all the other imaginary friends. Too bad I mostly end up with writers and artists. Jesus! You will never meet a whinier bunch of jerks than people who string words together or paint pretty pictures. Musicians are just as bad, if not more so. And they always get me confused with those good-for-nothing muses! “Oh please inspire me, Jack Daniels!” “Give me some freakin’ ideas so I can make rent this month, Mary Jane!” (Eye Roll)
KG: Who's your dream client?
IF: Kids. They're easier. All they want is someone to blame for their screw ups. The parents never believe the little turds, and other than the occasional game of "Oh God, Why don't I have Real Friends To Play Monopoly With?", they leave you in peace. Give me a snot nosed hell spawn any day of the week.
KG: So, what is the difference between an imaginary friend and a muse?
IF: Muses are supposed to “inspire” you. Imaginary friends are there for moral support when muses inevitably let you down.
KG: What’s up with all the muse hate?
IF: Assholes get the credit for all the good ideas when they do jack squat to deserve it. All they really do is look pretty and steal ideas.
KG: Did you always want to be an imaginary friend?
IF: Nah. When I was young, I had dreams. Dreams of being an operatic mezzo-soprano…
IF: No, you moron! I’m a fucking creature of whimsical fantasy! I only exist in your imagination. How can I have dreams of my own? Dumb-ass.
KG: This is the part of the interviewing process I like to call, THE SERIOUS THREE.
IF: Ah shit! This thing. (Sigh)
KG: It includes a series of three indelibly significant, unbelievably serious questions. You are obligated to answer them as seriously as possible. Are you ready, Friend?
QUESTION #1: How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
IF: …You’re brain damaged, aren’t you? It's the only explanation. Crap! I hope I'm not a delusion brought on by oxygen deprivation. I hear those guys have terrible job security.
QUESTION #2: If Bobby has eight pencils, and Sally has two erasers, how many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop?
IF: Ask your muse, bitch.
QUESTION #3: Where can my readers follow you (Facebook, Twitter, home address, etc.)?
IF: I’m a fucking imaginary friend! I. Do. Not. Exist. You kind of have to exist to have a Facebook or Twitter account. Hey, I got an idea! Why don’t you go look up Santa Clause and the Tooth Fairy and ask them these stupid questions. Let me know how that works out for you.
IF: …Well, shit!