I hereby lay down my bet as to who will be the next president of the United States. Officially. Publicly. Without reservation. I’m telling you right now that Trump is going to be the next president.
Do you know that old saying, “Even a stopped clock is right twice a day”? I am not that clock. I’m not even a racist, poor, or uneducated clock.
All awkward discomfort aside, this post is not about politics. It’s about my favorite topic: me. Please indulge my narcissism. I promise it will last a lot shorter than four years.
Because I’m not running for office, I can say terrible things like, yes, I think the earth is on a crash course toward purging itself of its human infestation. Only through revolution can we break free from our current oligarchy. Canned spray cheese is delicious. Skinny jeans are attractive. I can say whatever horrifying things I happen to believe, with great conviction, because I am always wrong.
Here is my proven track record.
Cyndi Lauper will outlast Madonna.
The cream will rise to the top. Pure talent will outlast a gimmick every time. You can bank on that.
Michael Jackson is better than Prince.
I mean, the dude could dance. And not just one step. He was the King of Pop, a true humanitarian, not just some weirdo in high heels and eyeliner.
Backstreet Boys are so much more talented than any of those ‘N SYNC guys…
Dan Quayle is the most vapid candidate for VP we’ve ever encountered…
I will guess the gender of your unborn child.
Expecting a child? Ask me to guess whether you’re having a boy or a girl and you will, with absolute certainty learn the gender. Do you know why? Because I am always wrong in my guesses—no exceptions. Always. Wrong.
And when you have a binary problem, being 100% wrong is as good as being 100% right.
This is my prognostication. You heard it here first.
But don’t listen to me. Make your own informed decisions. I’m just a writer of snarky mysteries.