Take The Wheel, Geico Money

Eds. Note: This is the first installment of our ongoing series of guest appearances by cultural heavyweights.

I'm the Geico Money and I hate my miserable, one-note piece of shit of a life.  

"What?" you say. "You're so cute. You're so amazing. You must score so much sick tail that you're reduced to dragging your monetary nether-regions around behind you each morning after the previous night's carnal imbroglios."  

But that's just a manicured, well-cultivated image. And, if the truth be known, it's more than a bit of an albatross.

I didn't languish for four long years (and fiddle away $150k of Daddy's money) at Juilliard to have my best days in the rearview at 21 after being savagely typecast as a pile of currency with eyes that somehow causes a phantom Rockwell cover to be obtrusively piped into whatever hyper-contrived situation I happen to find myself in.

Yes, the nightlife can be pretty amazing.  It's always dope to raise a Hennessy with Jay-Z at 40/40.  A brother can't lie about that. And throwing out the first pitch at the Mets opener last spring was fine, too (although, truth be known, David Wright is an overpaid, manicured ladyboy and Omar Minaya would probably drop the ball on a Big Mac order, let alone a $100 Million contract negotiation). 

And, I suppose, my guest turn on SNL was interesting enough, although I was in utter awe of the show's comic titans like Keenan Thompson and Jenny Slate. But really, not even a tryout to become a cast regular? (Eat my pooper, Lorne Michaels.  For breakfast, lunch, dinner and a midnight snack, you pretentious cocksmoker.)

My agent just called last night, and guess what? I have three pending offers--all of them involving me reprising my turn as a bug-eyed pile of greenbacks. I don't care if it's Allstate. I don't care if it's a bidding war. I don't care if I'd be replacing President Palmer. I want to do Othello.  There, I said it.  I was born to play a murderous Moor in the Venetian Army. Deal.

I do confess the vices of my blood, so justly to your grave ears I'll present. How I did thrive in this fair lady's love. And she in mine. 

Haunting, I know. It's the role I was printed, cooled, bound and glued to play. And one day it will come to pass.  If you're a little off-Broadway rep theatre, don't bother. You can't put this sexy genie back in his cash drawer. Not anymore.

Consider yourself on notice, world: I am more than a hollow, witless change of pace from a lizard. I am more than a stack of green and a pair of elephantian eyes (who is, by the way, hung deceptively well).  

I have a soul. I have a mind. I have a destiny. 

Maybe I need to give him a call.

-Richard Bates McChesney, II (aka Geico Money)