My goal here is not to mislead anyone, so let me be clear: I am not the actual Macaulay Culkin. I’ve never starred in any films, and while I’ve been on the news a few times after getting stuck in things (vending machines, refrigerators, normal stuff), I’m not a celebrity.
Our editors very clearly assigned this article to me by mistake. When I tried to explain that I was not qualified to write this, the editorial staff was reluctant to admit fault. They simply kept chanting “Editorial does not err,” in a single, unified voice. The next day, apparently as their attempt at a compromise, I received this shirt in the mail:
I still didn’t feel like I had the requisite credentials, but I did have a deadline. I decided I’d try to do whatever Macaulay Culkin would do for one day. To be honest, I never saw his films as a kid. I remember the cover of Home Alone from video store shelves, and I remember he did a movie with bees. I think it was called The Beemaster. It didn’t matter. I just had to think like an offensively wealthy international film icon.
I started my day with the most luxurious meal I could afford:
I was finishing up my McRib at a bus stop when a stranger approached me, waving excitedly. I assumed he recognized me from the local news story that ran when I got my tongue and lower lip stuck in a toaster.
“I wasn’t trying to kiss it,” I said. He didn’t seem to hear me.
“Man, are you waiting for the bus? That’s so cool and down to Earth!”
I didn’t share his enthusiasm for buses and wanted him to leave, but I reminded myself to think like a film star instead. I thought I’d wow him with some insider Hollywood trivia:
“Um. Did you know Air Bud isn’t credited as the best boy in the movie Air Bud?”
“You’re hilarious,” he said. “I love the shirt, too. It’s so cool that you can laugh at yourself. Hey, do you think I could get your autograph, Mr. Culkin?”
That’s when it clicked: The shirt was working. With a sudden surge of confidence, I gave him an autograph and told him to leave. He obeyed. This was my first taste of power. It’s escalated rapidly since then. I haven’t taken the shirt off in a week, but nobody says anything about my odor. As long as I’m wearing it, I’m unstoppable. In the last week, I have:
- Ordered a $200 steak and told the restaurant to send the bill to Devon Sawa.
- Commandeered a police horse. The officer let me off with a warning and a selfie.
- Forced a convenience store employee to let me scratch an entire roll of instant lottery tickets so I could just buy the winners.
- Given a Ted talk. I don’t know what the topic was; I just made the face from the cover of Home Alone and the crowd went insane.
My mind reels with the possibilities. Even now, a swarm of bees is hovering outside my window, and I am eager to greet my new minions. This shirt has granted me the limitless power of America’s sweetheart, Macaulay Culkin. It stands to reason that it also grants me control over bees, like in that movie.
That’s what the movie with the bees was about, right?