My plan to live the American dream

Erik Wyse

A lot of people I know are a little shy about their life’s dreams. They feel vulnerable sharing what is most important to them with strangers. My roommate, for instance, will only tell you about his life-long dream of bringing Ultimate Frisbee to the Olympics when you sauce him up a bit and promise not to tell anyone else.
I, on the other hand, belong to the positive re-enforcement school. The more I talk about something, the more likely it is to happen. That’s why I spend the first 30 minutes of every day staring at myself in the mirror saying, “I can dunk, I can dunk” in a rhythmic monotone that some people describe as “soul-infusing.”
So I’m not abashed or embarrassed to say what I want. According to my philosophy, sharing my dreams out loud can only help, and so I will share them with you. My chief concern is making a lot of money – fast, I might add. After all, what good is an education if I can’t parlay it into a lucrative career.
I originally entered Lawrence with the goal of becoming a trophy husband. I took classes in sweater-shopping, cabinet-making, and All-American quarterback-raising. That door has unfortunately closed itself, as I am now growing a mustache in an attempt to be more “ironically out-doorsy” than my fellow ORC housemates.
Tom Selleck was once a venerable sex symbol, but now there is increasing hostility and prejudice towards the hairy upper lip. The man bold enough to sport a handlebar these days finds himself alone and surrounded by would-be aggressors – and, trust me, I would know. I could take up pages pontificating on the evolution and cultural implications of the ‘stache, but now is not the time my friends.
This article is about very realistic goals I have, namely working as a mafia don by night and a social worker by day. Yes, this might be a full plate to mouth but with determination I could become the first, paving the way for countless Americans to come just as Robert Pattinson opened the door for the abstinent teenage vampire archetype.
Why a social worker you might ask? No mafia don has had the versatility and talent to be viewed as “decent” enough to actually enter the realm of politics, but I feel that I have the skills to be able to keep both balls in the air.
This way I will surpass Tony Soprano, Scarface and that guy from “The Godfather” and be the first godfather to actually turn the U.S. into my own, very enlarged “family.”
This is no mere fantasy. I have strategies and plans. Upon graduating, I intend to purchase an Olive Garden. That is only part of my maniacal plot that I am willing to share of with you as of yet, besides unlimited salad and bread sticks. The rest of my trajectory you will have to learn from The New York Times and multi-part Dateline made-for-tv documentaries.
Where does one go after being a mafia don and an elected
public official, one might ask?
Besides jail, and E! network reality
shows, the third most likely
option is to write a bestselling
paperback.
I embellish, I will get a ghost
writer, or two, or three, and I am
set to surely reap in millions,
especially after Martin Scorsese
turns it into a Hollywood vehicle
starring Kevin Costner and
Mark Wahlberg – Kevin Costner
would play the title role, aka me.
I’ll then hit the circuits, giving
talks, signing books, possibly
even returning to Lawrence
University for the inevitable
honorary degree, convocation
and luncheon. I might throw
around a couple mil and have
Lawrence dedicate some drywall
in my honor. My legend will
grow. My waist size will expand
with all the never-ending pasta
bowls I will inhale.
After milking the cow for
years I will have to settle down.
The don’s life, as well as the
social worker-turned-politician’s,
is a hard one: It wears
down both body and mind. I’ll
have to be careful not to fly too
close to the sun, and stay off
the pesto.
Legendary dons are like
arthritic goldsmiths. Both
embellish in treasure but their
own line of work makes their
condition worsen to the point
where they must leave the game
for fear of joining the dust.

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