So I moved to Iran for six months and made gay porn for the local market. I think my first two releases, Dicks in the Sand and Anal Jihad, could have built an audience—if they hadn't burnt the studio down and cast the rubble, and the cast, into the sea.
You know how in some of these countries, they cut your hand off if you steal and your nose off if you sneeze at the salad bar? I was a long time recovering from my gender-reassignment surgery once I got back to the states. I didn't change my gender; I just had it reassigned. I make love with my elbows now, which is one more good reason to keep them off the table at mealtimes.
Then I tried being God for a while. It started simply enough, with me working as a cowpoke. I was riding a herd across the prairie one day when a thunderstorm spooked the cattle into a stampede. Two thousand beeves were coming my way in a trampling mood, when suddenly the Lord sent a cascade of lightning right into the front ranks, forming a smoking wall of steak to shelter me.
It seemed like an awful lot of aggravation for a job that didn't offer many perks. I'd lost my shot glass in the tumult, and I detest drinking from a bottle. So I got to thinking: God made the cattle stampede; then he killed them for stampeding. If that's what it takes to be God, I reasoned, then I'm God. I can be petty and arbitrary—why not get worshiped for it?
So I did that gig for a while, and you know what? Omniscience is really distracting. You're there trying to watch The Sopranos, and another damn sparrow falls from a branch somewhere, and then you're just latching on to what Uncle Junior's saying and some other sparrow flops over in Lapland or some-such sump hole. When you're God, it's just the whump of falling sparrows 24-7.
So I am back at the Weekly now, here to tell you that there is no place like home. The next time you start feeling like you're just a lump of coal in the diamond lane of life, remember this: If you fulfill your potential, then your potential is all used-up, isn't it?