Here are three big, ambitious projects I started over the years but never finished because of laziness, boredom, and/or circumstances completely out of my control.

One: I started writing an autobiography entitled, “Francis, Marty and Me.” It was about the experiences I had hanging out with film directors Francis Ford Coppola and Martin Scorsese in New York City back in the early ’70’s. I actually finished half the book before it dawned on me that I was only 6 years old in 1971. This revelation, plus the fact that I’ve never even so much as passed by Coppola or Scorsese in an airport, caused me to drop this little project like I’d drop a girlfriend who suddenly told me she was a Creationist.

I’ve Never Even Met These Guys

Two: In 1989, I bought a book called, “How To Create A Worm Hole In Your Kitchen.” With it, I created a tiny worm hole in my kitchen right next to my fridge. I was hoping to trick my scores of enemies, one at a time, into coming over for a nice glass of refreshing milk. When they did, I’d shove them into the worm hole on our way to the fridge. Well, after I’d done this once or twice, I got bored with it and stopped doing it. I left the worm hole open, however, just in case I needed to use it for something later. But by the time I moved from the apartment, I’d all but forgotten about it. I’m only remembering it now because, last night, there was a breaking news report about monsters suddenly appearing on the street where my old apartment stands. They’ve apparently been stealing human children and taking them back into the worm hole with them to do who knows what to them. I bet it really feels shitty to lose your kid like that if you’re a parent, eh? In retrospect, I guess I should’ve at least mentioned to someone there was a worm hole in the kitchen before I moved. OOPS! My bad! Won’t happen again. I promise.

Worm Hole Monsters Stealing A Human Child

Three: In the early ’90’s, I got the insane idea to become a black mamba snake breeder. I was convinced I could make millions by selling black mambas to people looking for a different kind of pet and to people seeking unique solutions to unique problems. However, after being bitten and almost killed by these snakes several times, I gave up on the project. The benefits of continuing it clearly did not out-weigh the risks. So I returned all the snakes to my supplier in Ireland, and very shortly thereafter forgot I’d ever bred the bloody things. I forgot about it right up to the moment I was hosting my grandmother’s 87th birthday party and 20 baby black mambas crawled into a room filled with my grandmother’s closest friends. A slow pandemonium ensued as the elderly party goers scampered for the door. Luckily, no one was hurt, but many were angered. I had completely forgotten I’d placed 20 eggs in my sock drawer several weeks earlier. They hatched during the party, then crawled out to join it. Not a pleasant site to see at all. And to top it off, my grandmother was so outraged over the incident, she actually hired a witch doctor from Haiti to put a voodoo hex on me. I’m convinced it’s the cause of my premature balding. In retrospect, I guess breeding black mambas was just not a bright idea to begin with. But, like my Daddy always used to say, “We live and learn, little Pontificator. We live and learn.”

Black Mambas Aren’t Good House Pets