I’d rather be spearing a musk oxen.

I’d rather be dating Levi Johnston.

I’d rather be humping a mailbox.

I’d rather be prosecuting Dr. Frankenstein for crimes against humanity.

I’d rather be riding a donkey.

I’d rather be undressing for my mother.

I’d rather be trying on pants at Sears.

I’d rather be applying for a gun permit.

I’d rather be desensitizing my adolescent mind with violent video games.

I’d rather be spilling my soda.

I’d rather be looking for an exposed light fixture.

I’d rather be punishing myself.

I’d rather be mating for life.

I’d rather be drowning in fruit punch.

I’d rather be feeding my id.

I’d rather be addressing the Austrailian Parliament about a way to cull the rising kangaroo population.

I’d rather be drinking coffee.

I’d rather be joining a cult.

I’d rather be dining on human remains.

I’d rather be targeting minorities for sub-prime mortgages.

I’d rather be boosting my self-esteem with hallucinogenic chemicals.

I’d rather be translating my ex-girlfriend’s bullshit excuses into reasons that my elevated consciousness can make sense of for why I couldn’t satisfy her in bed but that totally dipshit new guy can.

– Dunstan McGill