You remember the story, right? Poor peasant who's friends with the king, constantly bitching that the king has it so good while the peasant has it so rotten. So one day, the king calls him on it. Says, "Look, you think my life is so wonderful, I'll give it to you for a day." "Hey, works for me," says the peasant, who races up the hill as fast as his little peasant feet can take him. King tells everyone, "This is Damocles. He's gonna be king tomorrow. Treat him good, capisce?" So the next morning, old Damocles wakes up, and here's all these retainers and servants and slaves and God only knows what else, and they're all fawning over him and agreeing with him and laughing at all his jokes, and he's thinkin' he could get used to this real quick. Then they take him downstairs for breakfast and seat him at this lavish table, and he's looking around, thinking Man, I have so made it!, when he looks up... ... and there's this sword, hanging, like, right over his head, suspended by a piece of horsehair. He starts to get up, but the king, who's been sitting next to him, sits him back down and says, "C'mon, man, enjoy yourself!" "But that sword..." "That ol' thing? I have to deal with that every day of my life. Never know when someone's gonna come along and take you out, 'know? But don't worry: you only have it over you for a day." "Yeah, well, if it's all the same to you, I'll let you deal with it." And with that the peasant got outa Dodge fast as he could; never again, did he bitch about his friend's success. Cool story, huh? I mean, reassuring when you see those things on Entertainment Tonight or those talking heads on CNN and yer thinking You know, those people aren't any better than me; I could be like them if I wanted to. Well, yeah, you could. You could be rich and famous and successful and have lots of friends and go to all the right parties and get on the covers of all the right magazines... ... and then I'd be there waiting for you. Oh, you know, nothing serious. I'm no stalker or anything. But I'm still there, all the time, reminding you that success is ephemeral and your friends just want your money and those women on The View doesn't give a damn, really, about your new book about the Bush era. A hundred years from now, all new people, as they say, and I'm right there telling you right now that a hundred years from now, no one's gonna care one whit about the fact that you got a corner office and a Beemer and a mistress shacked up in a swanky hotel in Paris. So you go ahead and get yerself all successful-like. Don't worry: I'll be there, right beside you. And when you least suspect it, I'll take my sword and whack right through that horsehair. And won't you be surprised when it happens, huh? Then we'll have a little laugh about it and go for a beer -- that sound good to you?