An Apology

Well, here it is, the court ordered apology that you’ve all been waiting for. Let me start off by saying that contrary to editorial opinion, I am not a monster. I am person, like you are. I do people things, I watch television and I enjoy eating.

This was never about the publicity for my television show. Sidney Martin’s Excitement Hour was always about the journey, a half hour journey to entertain and, possibly, edu-tain people who were up at 5:30 Monday morning. But Sidney Martin’s Excitement Hour was more than the entertaining and the people. It was about art. The art of grabbing people by their noses, putting them in a rocket car, and then taking them on a trillion mile per hour thrill ride. Because if people weren’t supposed to live lives of action then our forebrothers and foresisters wouldn’t have started off by leg whipping sabretooth tigers and strangling pterodactyls. That’s just the way it is. Sorry if the truth tastes a little bitter.

So that’s what I was doing last week for my former stepbrother, Carl, who was in dire need of a million mile per hour thrill ride, or a drinking intervention. I expected Carl who is twenty five years old and deeply enthralled with alcoholism to be making his way home from Loco Toro Blanco’s Tequila Tuesday. I thought that if I could hold up a mirror for Carl to see, that it might highlight some of his failings, failings such as Tequila Tuesday, Melonball Wednesday, and whatever the special was on Thursday.

Which is why I dressed like a ninja. People, I believe, learn best when they aren’t expecting an education. So that is why I somersaulted out of a moving van with a chainsaw and an airhorn. I was trying to kickstart Carl’s life.

I was just as shocked as Mrs. Dellacanos and her niece, Freebie when they weren’t Carl. Because, in reality, senior citizens are not expected to be out at that hour. Adding to the confusion was the fact that I was wearing a child’s hockey mask. It was ill fitting and I could only see out of one eyehole. I have written a letter to the manufacturer.

An important point to make here, despite what a local reporter claimed, the chainsaw was not running. If I’m going to do a somersault out of a moving van with a chainsaw, that chainsaw is going to be off.

I do completely agree that the airhorn was too much. I’m sure the ringing in Freebie’s ears, or tintinabulation as doctors call it, will diminish, and perhaps eventually disappear.

Ironically, it was Carl who then jumped on me and repeatedly hit my head on the curb. From stumbling drunk to local hero in seconds, thanks to me.

So that is what happened. It wasn’t a crime but an attempt to help Carl, who doesn’t need any help because he is now a hero. A drunk hero, but nobody seems to care about that. I would have apologized on Sidney Martin’s Excitement Hour, my popular pre-morning television show, but it was canceled for “legal” reasons. So there goes the Constitution down the crapper.

Now that I’m finished apologizing, I think there is some more blame to go around. Jonah’s Ark All-star Bagels, I gave you three years of my life, I think I deserved a little better than I got, which was not my job. Knocksborough Police Department, maybe I wouldn’t have lost my job if you hadn’t felt the need to taser me in the middle of my shift. Also if you were trying to hire jerky, red faced, loose cannons, congratulations, Officer Marcie LePage is your woman. It’s a miracle that she has not shot a child or pet. Centennial Cable, you guys seem very hardcore about the rules and the “law” now, maybe you should have explained them better at the orientation. To my lawyer, Paul Heehan, your ads promised “qualified representation”. Time to get a new ad, pal. Also, my current stepbrother Brian, who filmed the incident and ran away without being implicated, well, you’re implicated now, see you at home.

Sidney Martin

P.S. Enjoy me while you can. As soon as my house arrest is over, I am out of this town. And believe me, this tracking anklet might keep me within one hundred and fifty feet of my mother’s house, but it can’t monitor my spirit. Which remains, as always, super free.

Again yours,
Sidney Martin


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