I’m a Narcissist, but I’m Not Perfect
in
MoeLestation is gripping the nation. America’s youth is surrendering its innocence as more and more people fall victim to its overpowering charm. It’s hard to avoid getting caught up in the hype.
I say, why fight it? At least, that’s what I try to tell myself. But this other, stupid part of me wants to raise his wimpy little hand and make a point about humility. That’s why it pains me to admit that I’m a total narcissist, but I’m not perfect.
Don’t get me wrong, I love myself. I just don’t know if I love myself enough. Should someone with my godlike physique and amazing talent have even a modicum of respect for those who claim to be his peers or equals? Because I do; and it scares the hell out of me. That’s why I’m always aspiring to do more to ensure that I know just how much I care about myself.
Like any self-proclaimed narcissist, I spend hours every day admiring my image in any reflective surface. I’ve actually purposely left puddles all over my house just so I don’t have to walk too far to see how amazingly handsome I am. Sometimes, however, I find myself actually staring into a girl’s eyes instead of simply enjoying an unmolested view of Moe Lester. What is wrong with me?
I suppose the very fact that I’m questioning my own infinite wisdom should indicate that I have room to grow as a narcissist. Infallibility aside, I have other issues in completely worshipping at my altar. For instance, I believe bystanders should pay for the privilege of devouring this piece of eye candy on his or her morning commute, but I also continue to send Mother’s Day cards to my mom. What the fuck!?
Granted, I cross out the heartfelt sentiment bullshit and any “thank you” sections, replacing them with “you’re welcome,” but, still. I mean, here’s a woman who has the unparalleled opportunity to brag about the accomplishments and awe-inspiring beauty of Moe Lester to all her friends and pretend as if she had something to do with them! What more presents could she possibly desire!?
Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Holy crap, Moe! Are you saying that you don’t want little kids to meet and dream about becoming the Moe Lesters of the world? Also, how can you empathize with ugly mortals like us?”
First of all, I have an amazing capacity for understanding. Secondly, I certainly want people to be as much like me as they can. I want people to be familiar with the comforting touch of my Outreach Around the Community programs. That’s precisely why I started Moe Lester’s Candy Vans across America initiative, in which volunteers drive around neighborhoods distributing candy and hugs to youngsters.
I don’t know. Maybe I’m being too hard on myself, but I have to be that way. Who else can hold someone of my stature accountable? Ultimately, I think Moe Lester’s only problem is caring too much about the reproductive health of my future idolaters. Wait a minute. I don’t have any problems. I’m perfect. The police are the ones with problems.
