Anyway, before I got sidetracked analyzing my horrible distaste for honesty -- it is nothing but a bad piece of fish on a stale Kaiser roll -- I meant to say something about why I behave the way I do. The concept of honesty reared its ugly head because I was going to begin lying to explain how honest I was, when it's clear to everyone that I find "telling the truth" to be something for nuns and precious children dressed in adorable sundresses.
I wish I could report that on the rare occasions that I behave in an admirable and socially acceptable manner that I do so because, in my core, I know that this is how I should behave or that I enjoy behaving well. Nothing could be further from the truth. I find good behavior curious but unappealing. Why would I sit quietly in church, listening to a good sermon, when I could be doing bong hits and drinking warm beer and watching Petticoat Junction?
The fact of the matter is that I have learned that good behavior today makes for a happy Horseface tomorrow. Bad behavior is like sipping on a weak poison. Imperceptibly, I get sicker and sicker. I don't die right away but eventually I wish that I had.
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