Someday I’m gonna…

You’re gonna what? You keep saying that, but do you ever do it? Does someday ever come? Do you ever do the things in your someday? To me someday is a small town on the horizon that you can’t reach because your car runs out of gas and you complain like everyone else that it’s ‘just my luck.’

Someday has an exclusive population of over-achievers. The mailboxes in Someday have names like Gates, Trump and Pitt and I’d like to think there’s a townhome or condo waiting for me, but then I stop dreaming and get back to work, because that’s the way Someday works.

But not just yet, I want to imagine some more.

In Someday my wife cooks me a fantastic breakfast that drives my libido to take her on the kitchen island. Twice. In Someday there’s a new car in everyone’s driveway that changes more often than Charlie Sheen’s Redbox account. Today’s pick is a Jaguar XKR convertible. Midnight Blue with the upgraded premium leather package. It screams “classy MILFs only please.” I grab a Tag Heuer from my watch collection and roar the big V12 out of the driveway, narrowly missing Hillary Swank and Nikki Cox as they jog past in skimpy outfits and wave.

“When will they learn I’m spoken for?” I wonder, secretly hoping they never do.

Did I remember to lock my door? Are you kidding? There’s no crime in Someday. Criminals are executed with extreme prejudice and in public. It’s a great deterrent. In Someday I can take a brief ski in my Speedo’s at the local mountain and then head to Someday Beach to tan my perfect abs. There’s no such thing as cancer here, but we do have a playful ass-slapping law that makes it more legal than an NFL game. I’m so glad I voted for Mayor Schwarzenegger.

Partisan politics doesn’t get in the way of progress and minority groups are unnecessary since tolerance is universal. The schools are clean and safe, no one is required to attend sensitivity training, and no one’s heard of a support group. Driving through Someday you’ll notice the dogs don’t bark, there are no mullets, door-to-door salesmen, boy bands, chick-stealing back-stabbers, protests against violent sports, man-ponytails, spouse abuse, fanny packs, oversized RELAX shirts, or hot pink anything unless it’s a neon sign on the casino where everyone wins.

Dinner is the fresh catch of the day that someone in a slicker dropped off at the house. And though I have no idea who it was, I’m sure he was great eye candy for the wife, since she deserves something better to look at than me. Just wait until she sees our hot, new Spanish pool girl. In Someday the chick pumping my gas could put Jennifer Anniston to shame…and then bitch slap her. Admiring beauty of the opposite sex is not only allowed in Someday, it’s encouraged. Just don’t think of cheating though; adulterers are castrated with a rusty knife and have their testicles sewn into their eyelids for all to see.

Thank former mayor Charlton Heston for that.

In Someday I’ll actually check the mail because it’s not the worthless credit card offers, lawn service flyers, and other crap we get today. The news in Someday is always good and reality shows have their own channel. Did you see me win Survivor? In Someday we always get all-new, commercial-free episodes of Lost and Scrubs and down a healthy box of Girl Scout Cookies. Movies never get old and if they do, I’ll watch the weekly movie that Adam Sandler or John Cusack released. See, the residents of Someday have the ability to choose for themselves and have banned huge marketing blitzs to sell them on what’s good. So talented people like Sandler, Cusack, Joe Dirt, Rufus Wainwright, Cake and The Donnas can crank out movies or albums whenever they want. In Someday, even Saturday Night Live is funny again.

Like I’m Sinatra, my Someday Rat Pack arrives at my house consisting of Ewan MacGregor, Vince Vaughn, Carrot Top, Nick Palmisciano, and Austin Powers. Steve Martin occasionally drops by to deliver a rousing comedy sketch that coincides nicely with the fifth and sixth higballs of the evening. And don’t worry about hangovers; the Someday PD killed off all those pesky critters when Hunter Thompson was sheriff.

In my Someday home I show off my UFC Middleweight Championship belt and reminisce about beating Anderson Silva to get it. I thanked him for being such a great competitor in his native Portuguese after the beat down, though. Everyone respects sportsmanship in Someday. I scoff at how dingy it looks before barking commands at our previously mentioned hot Spanish pool girl, who doubles as a maid, to clean it. I’m fluent of course.

The Rat Pack relaxes with a refreshing game of rugby and talk of their favorite players from the US team, who finally won a World Cup and got the general public to spell SCRUM correctly. It’s the official sport in Someday because the athletes aren’t spoiled whining schoolgirls going on strike over salary caps. People work hard, admit their failures and take responsibility here.

In Someday kids say things sincerely, like ‘please,’ ‘thank you,’ ‘I love you daddy,’ and ‘It really wasn’t my brother’s fault your Cuban cigars got flushed down the toilet. I did it.’

In Someday I don’t have to beg a publisher to read my book or practice my acceptance speech for Best Original Screenplay because I’ve already done both. The Academy raved as they stood and clapped joyously at my humble, yet piercing remarks. I remember it as I stare at the Oscar next to my UFC belt in the trophy case coincidentally located in the foyer so anyone driving by is blinded by its gaudy fluorescence. The searchlight pointing at it probably helps.

“And lastly I want to thank my parents,” I choke back the sob in my throat. “I hope you’re proud of me…because that’s all I ever wanted.” Dianne Lane weeps as she escorts me off the stage to a waiting throng of groupies.

Yeah, Someday…the elusive town where virtue and vice commingle, dreams come true, and hope is stricken from the vocabulary. I hope to see it…someday.