Oh, Let Me Count The Ways...

West, I love you. I worship you. But sometimes I'd rather be doing something else... ok, anything else. Run for president, give every Tuesday devotional, visit every climb, penetrate every continent, sound in every ear, bowl a 300, shoot 8 under par, obtain a BCS bid, become a Harry Potter character, replace Gary Crowton, squeegee skyscraper windows, undermine coup d'etatses, sell out Carnegie Hall, quash midget rebellions, anchor the tug-of-war, send text messages, harness cold fusion, floss thrice daily, cut paper snowflakes, dominate wheel chair basketball, eat shrimp fried rice, shoe horses, reap the sown, fell trees, water fake house plants, dispose of rechargable batteries properly, investigate illegal window tintings, diagnose carpal-tunnel syndrome, enjoy a cool refreshing Pepsi, pluck rampant unibrows, chant mantras, make dashboard confessionals, get a Brazilian wax, sun jaudice, spoon under water, annul hasty Vegas weddings, rebuke butt-less chaps, bombard obstreperous sugar gliders, repeatedly throw up dog food...