Listening to Tiger Woods's public apology yesterday, I realized that I needed to apologize as well. And so, I hope all of my friends and family will accept this carefully crafted lament.
Thank you for being here today. I would first like to apologize to my wife, Becky, because I have been so mediocre and boring. I'm truly sorry for the last twenty-five years of marriage and I pledge to do better in the future--you know, really spice things up. I also apologize for focusing so much on soups and for wasting so much of our hard-earned money on donuts. Of course, there are many of you that want to know more about our relationship, but what my wife and I have for dinner (and what we do afterwards) is really none of your business. And I patently deny the rumors that I have been taking performance enhancing drugs in the bedroom.
To my children . . . I'm really sorry for cooking so many wieners on the grill during the summer months. I regret that we didn't order more pizzas during your formative years, when all of us were making the switch form LPs to CDs and now IPod. But it was a very confusing time for all of us, and my deficiencies as a father were notable. I also apologize for not being there for you when you were setting fire to the basement.
To my colleagues at work . . . I apologize for tying up the internet and for telling so many weak jokes in staff meetings. I can only hope you will forgive me. In the future, I pledge to eat less pastry and do more of my work behind closed doors. I also promise to flush the unisex toilet after I've used it.
To both of my friends . . . I'll be sending you free copies of my next book. I apologize for writing about you both in the 3rd person, as if you don't exist. Next time, I'll use a first-person voice and watch the use of my adjectives more closely.
To my publishers . . . I apologize for my weak sales record and pledge to be worthy of your confidence in the future. Of course, there are many rumors floating around about me (that I am actually a woman, that my real name is Enrico Von Trapp, that I have pectoral and calf implants) . . . but most of these are fabrications.
Finally, to my mother . . . I apologize for not calling every Sunday night to make sure Dad hasn't broken his hip. I am sorry for being a sloppy son. I apologize for trying to can my farts when I was twelve (do you still have the jars?).
Thank you, and goodnight. I will not be taking any questions at this time.