With my birthday just 116 days away, this is a good time to start dropping hints that what I have always wanted is a good drawing of myself done by a courtroom sketch artist. I would prefer that the drawing depict me as I sit triumphant on the witness stand, having just delivered bombshell evidence that will clear a very rich person from the unjust charges of felonious nepotism that threatened their freedom and their entire financial empire.
Of course, in my daydream, the person whose freedom I just delivered looks a lot like Mr Drysdale from the Beverly Hillbillies, and he can't wait to shake my hand as I make my way through the cheering crowd of well-wishers as he introduces me to his exuberant family.
Mind you, the judge is pounding his gavel, demanding order in the court, but the crowd pays him no mind as the devastated prosecutors gather up their briefs and slink away and "Mr Drysdale" tells me and Peggy that he is having his Alabama-born-and-bred cook whomp up a mess of sausage and gravy and biscuits and hominy, all to be delivered to us in time for breakfast every day for the next six months.
Just as it happened in The Simpsons, the sketch artist should be French, and say that the sketch, which will be framed in the finest wood and matting that Michael's can offer, is "but a simple charcoal rendering..."
Guess I'd better go. The cook just got here with mine.
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