Upon receiving this award, I have this prepared speech for you. Believe me, it’s worth your time.

Ladies and gentleman who picked me, I have to say thank you. But I suppose I should really be thanking me. I’m the one who’s put in the hard work and done everything possible just so I could be me. Do you think it’s easy? For me it is. For anyone else, it could be really difficult, but for me, it comes naturally.

All I can really say upon receiving this terrific recognition is: it’s about time. Other people get rewards for doing nothing, easy stuff like acting or hitting a baseball. That stuff isn’t hard. I can hit a rock with a baseball bat, and I’m talking about small rocks. Baseballs are bigger than that. If I really wanted to, I suppose I could play baseball for a living and get rewards every day. It doesn’t look all that hard. But I’m happy with the telemarketing job because I get Fridays off.

I’m not sure why it took you so long to get around to giving me something—I’m not doing your job, although I’m betting I could if I wanted to. I might shock you to say this, but I’ve never won anything in my life. Nothing. Not an award, not a medal, not a video game or game of bowling. Some people might think they lacked the ability to do something great, but I know it’s just because I didn’t really want it bad enough whenever I didn’t win. Someone great once said, “There are no real losers; there’s only people that fail to win.” I said that! And it’s true.

Believe me, I could have won a hundred things like these by now, if I needed that kind of validation enough to break a sweat 24 hours a day. But I don’t—I’m too confident to work for somebody else’s approval. Whether it’s some faceless committee that picks names out of hats or some tight-ass boss who yells at you on Monday morning because you’re not supposed to have Fridays off on your job, I don’t need anyone else’s approval. There’s only one person I need to thank for bringing me into this world—me. I worked at it, dug and claw my way out of mom’s womb, until I was out on my own, and I haven’t needed anybody else since. Because I have confidence.

Still, I suppose thanks are in order for this great thing I’ve finally won. Thank you, me, for getting me to this point. I’m glad someone somewhere finally said, “That Awol Jackson, he’s a right guy. He’s the kind of guy who needs a fucking award.” I imagine that’s how it went. With less swearing, maybe. Or more. Who knows. But that guy or lady was right.

Don’t think I’m going to go all soft or anything now that I have won something. I’m still going to keep trying—trying as much as I want to try, and no more. I don’t need to impress anybody else to make Awol Jackson happy. I don’t need to impress anybody. And I don’t. I do what I know I should, and I just get by being me. I’m not going to turn all phony overnight and start working just to win awards. I’m not going to put on a suit and work day and night and smile for all the assholes in the world just so I can get more awards to put on my shelf. I don’t even have a shelf, and I’m not about to build one. Maybe if I won one I’d take it, but I’m not going to change for no one.

If that’s what you expect, you can take back your 1000 free hours of Internet service. I don’t need awards that badly. I don’t even have a computer anyway, so I’m sure not going to miss it.

If I won it on my own merit, I’ll keep it. If you did it to buy my soul, take it back, you faceless committee.



All I’m Looking for is the Perfect Gangbang
Picture this: Just you and the anonymous woman, and four friends who just came with you from the last party. And she’s a doll, too, like a slutty Katie Couric, but not too slutty. Dressed in some alluring and only slightly skanky lingerie, bathed like the room in the red lights of nearby lamps.

Those of You Worshiping My Brother Are Making a Mistake
Phil’s got good hair, I’ll give him that. That’s always been his strength. And I can understand people seeing that, and thinking “You know, that guy’s got great hair. I bet he’s got it all figured out” right before they shave their heads and start wearing the periwinkle jumpsuits. But hold on one second, pilgrims.

Way Inside Jokes
Having your own abbreviations and slang just makes life way more fun. Like whenever someone tells me they’re a fan of something or other, I like to think that “fan” is short for “fancy vagina.” Then nobody knows why I’m cracking up because that fat guy in the third row just announced that he was a Philadelphia Phillies fancy vagina. What a dork!

I’m Not that Big a Fan of Talking
I don’t know what the big deal is. It seems like it’s basically impossible to find a girl to date who isn’t constantly nagging you about that. “What do you want to eat? What are you thinking about? Why did you put my dog in that Ziplock bag?” I swear, if I wanted to be interviewed I’d show up at the airport with lit fuses sticking out of my shoes.