yesterday i said this…
“doing stand up comedy is like slow dancing with failure.”
it’s middle school again. you’re wearing your best 80s dress. big pink bow around stomach. big velvet bow at top of back. small purple bows dispersed all over frilly lace skirt. you look indescribable. this is it. this is the bigtime. you see failure across the room. he has his full head gear on, and he’s also wearing pants where you can see his ankles peering out.
nevertheless, you think hey he doesn’t look bad tonight. your eyes meet. he starts walking toward you. you start getting butterflies in your tummach. you’re gonna give this a whirl! then before you know it, you’re both cheek to cheek, swaying gently. and everything’s happening in slow motion. it’s real intimatelike. it’s just how you imagined it! beyond your most scandalous 7th grade dreams.
until you realize that something’s off…you can’t quite place it…what is it? something isn’t quite right.
ah yes, failure doesn’t bathe…
this metaphor is flawed in so many places that it’s even not worth making a big stink about it. we here at aparna corp. already acknowledged it was crap before your precious peepers were even tainted by it. but as i said before, failure is a dirty mcpoopypants.