Airelee nominated me to do that charming little blog equivalent of a chain letter. And, since I am never one to rock the boat, I shall carry on. This list, is as follows.

If I could be a scientist...
If I could be a farmer...
If I could be a musician...
If I could be a doctor...
If I could be a painter...
If I could be a gardener...
If I could be a missionary...
If I could be a chef...
If I could be an architect...
If I could be a linguist...
If I could be a psychologist...
If I could be a librarian...
If I could be an athlete...
If I could be a lawyer...
If I could be an innkeeper...
If I could be a professor...
If I could be a writer...
If I could be a backup dancer...
If I could be a llama-rider...
If I could be a bonnie pirate...
If I could be a midget stripper...
If I could be a proctologist...
If I could be a TV-Chat Show host...
If I could be a Lapidary...
If I could be President of Ansi...
If I could be an Archeologist...
If I could be Amish...

If I could be a painter... I would start this fabulous art trend, which involved rolling your body in paint and various paintable textiles and then hurling your body against a canvas. Creating hideously ugly and useless life-sized paintings. They would be all the rage, very valuable, completely brilliant and I would remembered as the modern Picasso.

If I could be Amish... I would use those deceptively innocent children to farm my fields of marijuana. Who would ever suspect? I would it grow in between my rows of vegetables and it would be completely innocuous. All the money I made (peddling my special blend in the rural hills of PA) I would use to pimp my buggy out. It would be sweet. (I might want to first research if women are allowed to own their own buggies. I know for a fact women's lib isn't looked to kindly on there...) If I was caught, I would say I was growing it for medical reasons: giving a little relief to my twenty-seven dying aunts and uncles and to hook my thirty-three children at a early age into slave labor on The Farm.

If I could be a psychologist... I would be incredibly renowned. The patients would not be allowed to talk. I would be given an hour a week to tell them how selfish/screwed up/irritating they were. They would then be ordered to volunteer three years of their life to a worthy cause. And to stop being such sniveling asses.

If I could be a llama-rider... I would ride across America. Funding my journey by occasionally shaving the llama and selling it's wool. I would also do llama riding tricks. And if THAT wasn't lucrative, we would be a llama/trainer stripping team.

If I could be a doctor... I would be a plastic surgeon. And I would perform surgery on people I thought were worthy, only to have secretly given them fat implants. I would make fat the new skinny.


I nominate Queen-Of-Slackers, Sandy and Joy. No one is going to make you, but just think about your little children hooked on marijuana. And then say no. Do it. I dare you.