If I were a cartoon, I would be the main character. Finally, the world would revolve around me. My show would be called, “The Adventures of Dustin Alper: The Columnist”. It would be about my adventures — as a columnist.
If I were a cartoon, especially one that goes on adventures, then I must have an archenemy. Now I’m just spitballing here, but I feel like my nemesis would be a supercomputer named Clarence. He wants to rid the world of sarcasm because that is the one thing he does not understand. Or, maybe my archenemy could be a flash drive named Myrtle? She is upset because I lost her five years ago in the library’s computer lab. If those ideas don’t pan out, then I can have my current nemesis, my mother, be my archenemy in the show.
If I were a cartoon, I would have a catchphrase. Maybe I can just scream out random math terms like, “Algebraic!” or, “Rhombus!” No, that’s too silly. I need something more serious to go with the serious tone of my adventures. Maybe whenever I solve a problem I can say, “Joyful jubilation!” No, that’s just stupid. My catchphrase should be something I say frequently in the real world. Something like, “Can you stop talking?” My girlfriend tells me I say that often.
If I were a cartoon, I would be very paranoid. No, not because I can’t think of a good catchphrase, but because people would constantly watch me. Technically I wouldn’t know that there is an audience tuning in to admire my amazing adventures, but let’s not forget I am a columnist. Columnists have great intuition — or maybe they have great digestion? I always confuse the two.
If I were a cartoon, I would never die. The closest thing I can get to death would be the cancellation of my show. My life would consist of reruns. I would be reliving my problems over and over again — at that point maybe death isn’t so bad. Looking on the bright side, I would finally be able to start my “If I Become Immortal” to-do list. The first item on my list is sewing. I am completely serious. Sewing is more dangerous than most people realize. If that needle pricks me in the wrong place, then we could have a sticky situation. The last thing I need is to puncture my penis. Oh wait, if I were a cartoon, I wouldn’t have a penis — at least the cartoons I watch don’t have them.
However, if I did puncture something, it wouldn’t be that bad because if I were a cartoon, every day would end the same way. All of my problems would be solved, and a pig that has a terrible stutter would come out of nowhere and squeal, “That’s all folks.”
