Major League Baseball Commissioner Bud Selig should suspend me for at least 150 working days. Like Affable ARod, the baseball Bronx Bomber Bomb-Out whom you will suspend for at least that long, I habitually use performance enhancing drugs (PEDs). In fact, I did so this morning until one minute ago when I started typing this. I will continue to juice between an upcoming paragraph, or maybe when writer's block hits me, or while hanging a dangling modifier.
My PEDs consist of all the elements of the McDonalds Big Breakfast: three pillow-soft Mrs. Butterworth's flapjacks; a circular sausage patty that outclasses the Peppermint Patty and all other circular objects including the moon; a pressed-out patch of scrambled eggs that has a glazed donut film-like coating; a diabolically greasy and oval hash brown slab; and a white and slightly tanned biscuit awaiting, like a deer among 20 lions in the African terrain, to be attacked.
Cobble all this together and it's a concoction that enables me to type faster than my writing competitors. I can see the PC screen more clearly and pick up dust particles as they drift onto it--almost at a microscopic level like Steve Austin, the Six Million Dollar Man. My fingers dance up and down with more precision than others due to faster switch muscles, sort of like ARod's faster switch muscles help him hit more dingers. Dancing the Big Breakfast Boogie, I think more creative-and sometimes outlandish-- thoughts per minute than I otherwise would. Outlandish is good.
My analogies are more airtight like an airplane's emergency exit door during flight. See what I mean? My sentences sparkle more. Take that one, for example. My sentences become as shiny-if not more so-than the coating on the Big Breakfast's scrambled egg rubber. My paragraphs exude cohesiveness; they become the captains of cogent. Ergonomically, I feel more comfortable in my chair and the keys feel better suited to the ridges in my fingertips. My ability to sense when I am running out of anything to say is more keen. Like now, for instance. This is going nowhere and I know it; it's like ARod having a better sense of the strike-zone.
Under the spell of these PEDs, my first drafts aren't as incoherent as they typically are. Bigger vocabulary words occur to me more often and at appropriate times. I need Dictionary.com less.
When I'm pumping on the Big Breakfast juice, it's not fair to other writers to have to compete with me. They're at a competitive disadvantage. Sure they are all high on coffee and that gets them going. But they don't have the grease in their bellies that provides the ache inside that a writer needs to write with gusto, spite and angst. They don't have the aftertaste in their mouths of syrup and sausage, which fuels good thoughts about how great life tastes and how good it is be alive. A positive mindset spawns more uplifting writing. They don't have that optimistic belief in themselves that I get knowing that, after I've crammed a bunch of it in, I still have space left for the biscuit an hour later when I need refueling. Competing writers have their coffee and something else but that's gone and it's over. They don't have anything else to look forward to and it affects the vitality of their writing. They're sad while I'm happy.
An innovative business model, if you really think about it, would be to offer the Big Breakfast, at McDonalds Drive-Thrus. The meal could be condensed into a test tube liquid and, wielding a foot-long needle with Ronald McDonald's logo on it, shot intravenously into your arm or some other nether-region on your body. Why bother with the knife and fork and having to shove the drug down your mouth when you can fire it in your bloodstream and get the competitive advantage much faster? To be the best, to make money so you can order more Big Breakfast meals, writers need to publish faster and faster even if blogs that no one reads. With speed so in vogue, go rogue.
Seriously, no writer can touch me if they don't start jitterbugging to the Big Breakfast Boogie every morning as I do. To be clever-all writers aspire to be clever--they may try other ploys to level the playing field such as a bagel with cream cheese or a Big and Tasty egg and cheese sandwich from Everybody Runs on Dunkin'. But they won't get the full Biogenesis Balco Bang that I get. The Big Breakfast is the quintessential concoction of chemicals.
I admit it's not fair what I'm doing, taking advantage of banned substances. But drug testing in the writing field hasn't yet caught up with the cheaters like me who are beating the system. Beyond professional superiority, I have other ambitions. Like A-Rod, I want to be a hero and role model to kids. All kids love pancakes. So do I. The secret to making a hero of yourself is to play to what the audience wants.