So I'm in the shower, splish force splashing away the yesterday and Marx comes to mind. Specifically Chico (pronounced Chick-Oh, get it right monkey) Marx who got his name because he was a well known "chicken chaser" - he sure love them chicks. So do I, Lacking I. The difference being that Chico had the swagger and the suave to fulfill his desires to be accompanied by many a female.
I got shit.
=l
So as I shower I ponder "Which Marx brother am I?"
Chico is out of the question. That guy is pimp. The pimpiest of the pimps of the Marx Brothers clan. Groucho? Am I Groucho? Nope. He's got such a quick wit that if he did his stuff in slow motion in his sleep I still wouldn't be able to keep up, no sir. It would be awesome to talk fire like Groucho but alas my words typically come out only after minutes of ultra-careful deliberation. Then rehearsal. Then a mic check. Then a second rehearsal.
Not Groucho. No.
Nooray for Captain Spaulding.
Harpo? Honk honk!! Negative. His innocent mischief is unmatched while I walk these modern days as an utter prick. Additionally, there's no way I could shut up and throw a hoopla on physical antics alone. As loud as I write, I am loud as I speak (when enthused). AND I can't play the harp. Honk honk no. Be quiet, you're not Harpo, oh Lacking One.
So that leaves . . .
Zeppo Marx.
Huh?! Zeppo Marx?
Wait wait wait wait waaaait. The straight man? The boring one? I'M Zeppo Marx? Ahhh crap. Margaret Dumont was a more well known straight man then the lesser Marx. I might as well be Gummo!!
Despite the refreshing shower I STILL goooooooot shit.
=P
[ FUN FACT: Chico's real name is Leonard Marx. Playa. ]
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