I’m in the habit of giving myself a gift whenever I accomplish anything of note in my life. When I moved to L.A., I bought myself a watch. When I signed with a new agent, a fancy shirt. Each serve to remind me of the milestones.I’m also in the habit, when I’ve had day jobs, of serving under bosses who despise my very being. Apparently, happy-go-lucky, aspiring actor-types don’t skew well with the midlife-crisis demographic.
One boss in particular wasn’t equipped with even a nanogram of compassion; his raison d'être was to piss on my parade. Somehow, miraculously, he was asked to pack his things and vacate the premises before he got his chance to clip me. The date was March 11th, and it’s now officially recognized in my home as Independence Day. It was gift-time for Matt.
Since I have a knack for always finding the perfect gift for anyone, I knew exactly what I was going to get myself: the toilet seat you see above.
So now, every time I take a twosie, I think of you, ya reptile. God bless.
