Either of these two buffoons could play this blowhard... take it away, Mr. Sheen and Mr. Ferrell...
Oh, hello. You caught me in the middle of gazing into my mirror. I like to get started that way in the morning, look at myself in the mirror for an hour or two before I get the day started. It reminds me of just how brilliant I really am, and how much the world depends on basking in my radiant intellect. I like to look in the mirror and tell myself, "Gosh, I'm so smart." That's how I came up with the title of one of my best selling books.
I'm Keith Jarrett, but you can call me Sir Keith. I'm due to be knighted by the Queen. I'm just waiting on final word from the Palace, it's all very hush hush. Just like my presence at the recent Royal Wedding. I was there, in attendance. You just didn't see me because I was sitting behind the peculiar hat of one of Prince Andrew's daughters. Yes, that was me. I could have gone out onto the balcony afterwards to wave to the crowd, but I didn't want to take the spotlight away from the happy couple. I'm just that modest, you see.
Still, I do so like the term Sir Keith. It rolls right off the tongue, doesn't it? Oh, I know what you're thinking. Americans can't be knighted. Let me assure you, there are rules for most people that don't apply to brilliant geniuses like me. My service to humanity as a sage and genius is well documented.
You know, me being me is both a blessing and a curse. It's a blessing, because I can serve humanity with my awesome wisdom and brilliance. It's a bit of a curse though, I'll admit. So many people come to me looking for advice and counsel, and it seems there's never enough hours in the day. Yes, being a certified genius can be trying at times, but someone's got to do it. Fortunately I have the stunning intellect and time-tested wisdom to get the job done.
The knighthood isn't the only pending honor due me. This year's Pulitzer for literature is a lock-up for my epic tome I Know Everything, So Bask In My Eternal Wisdom. The committee loved it, and they've assured me that I'm guaranteed the prize.
And while I'm talking about honours, the Nobel committee has me on the shortlist for the Peace Prize this year. It's for my extensive diplomatic efforts in getting Moammar Gadhaffi to open himself up to being a nicer guy. As you can see from the news these days, my efforts are paying off splendidly.
Of course, it runs in the family. My kids are going to grow up with their daddy's brains. Not literally, of course. Unless my in-process Experiment Zero turns out to start a worldwide wave of zombies. No, I meant that they're going to be perennial Nobel and Pulitzer winners, of course.
While I've got a moment, I'd like to clarify a couple of things. When I wrote Duck and Cover, The Buddhists Are Coming To Kill Us All, it wasn't meant to be read as a political commentary, even if that's how it seems. It's a satirical novel. I know satire, ladies and gentlemen. And as my good friend the late Mortimer Donnelly used to say, I've got satire coming out my ass. You know, I always found that expression rather peculiar.
And by the same token, my books How To Cure Ebola and Mother Teresa: Tyrannical Despot of India were always meant to be fiction. I mean no disrespect to the memory of Mother Teresa by suggesting she ran illegal casinos and employed a vast army of slave labour.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got another hour of mirror gazing to do. After that, I'm working on my next great tome, which has the working title Keith Jarrett: Last Best Hope Of Earth. Catchy title, don't you think?