Suppose you were sitting in your boxers in an apartment trying to write something in an archaic internet format. Suppose you felt an itch at your ankle. Suppose you just did the dishes after a meal of fine dining at the Whatever's In the Fridge Brasserie. Suppose all of this. Now dispose of it in your brain heap. Because I'm better than you.
I am actually standing in boxer briefs at a high kitchen island in a renovated pre-war, post-antebellum, pre-prandial, duplex reverse suplex nestled in the gated commuter community of Prospect Morning Dawn Crescent Balsamic Twilight Heights Valley Crepuscular Hill, a gorgeous mixed-use residential, commercial, evangelical, umbilical community located in the heart of the most coolest dude city place every yah! I'm still better than you.
I saw Reggie Watts perform in Red Hook park on Friday. I'm better than you.
I'm halfway done with Infinite Jest. I'm better than you.
I'm not on Facebook, Twitter, Myspace, Foursquare, Chowhound. I blog. I'm the only person still seriously blogging in America. I'm the only person who only has a blog. It's all I can afford. It's a recession, people! It's the economy, stupid! It's the judicial branch, numbnuts! It's the military, Honore de Ballsack!
I'm better than you. My diction is better than yours, even if every piece of masking tape I've ever written into a work of fiction has been "ragged." That modifier is still better than you.
There is loud, kind-of-pleasant, brassy Spanish music playing somewhere on the street right now, making me feel like I'm in a musical about someone who has just moved to New York City. I am better than loud, pleasant boleros. I am better than music. I am better than you.
Like one guy I saw in the Grand Army Plaza library earlier today, I have an iPhone 4, an iPad 2, a Macintosh Book of Professional Grade, two iBalls, matching iBrows, an iFace, an iThink (iAm sold separately), and a yellow Sony Sports Discman with 30 second shock resistance. All of these electronics equipments ares betters thans yous.