Some Piercing Statements Made in Rodman’s Defense

I came to work today with green hair.

There are tattoos on my arm from my wrist to my shoulder.

I have three earrings in my left lobe and one in my nose.

Everybody looked at me funny.

“Just what do you think you are doing?” asked my boss.

“Dressing like Dennis Rodman,” I said.

“Dressing like who?” asked my boss, who is not much of a basketball fan.

“Dennis Rodman,” I said. “The Worm.”

“You’re dressing like a worm?” he asked.

“Not a worm,” I said. “The Worm.”

I explained that Dennis Rodman of the San Antonio Spurs returned to work last week after a protracted absence.

“He was on the disabled list?” asked my boss.

“Maybe mentally,” I said.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“Dennis Rodman isn’t physically disabled,” I said. “He is psychologically challenged.”

I explained that Dennis Rodman doesn’t like to practice basketball, doesn’t like to shoot the basketball and doesn’t like to be coached in basketball.

“What does Dennis Rodman like?” asked my boss.

“He likes Madonna,” I said.

“Dennis is a Catholic?” asked my boss, who is not much of a music fan.

“Madonna the singer,” I said.

“The Worm likes this singer?” he asked.

“And she likes the Worm,” I said.

I explained that Madonna apparently had a warm relationship with the Worm, which does not exactly make the Worm unique but at least puts him one-up on most of the NBA.

“Madonna likes men with green hair?” asked my boss.

“Among other things,” I said.

“So that’s why you dyed your hair green?” he asked.

“Among other things,” I said.

I explained that, like the Worm, I do not like to work, I do not like to take orders, and I do not like to be told how to look.

“But you can’t do your job with green hair,” said my boss.

“Why?” I asked. “The Worm does.”

“But what if everybody came to work with green hair?” he asked.

“I’d dye mine orange,” I said.

I explained that, like the Worm, I like to be different. I want famous singers to like me, and they like men who are different. They like men with green hair and tattoos and nostril rings.

“About those tattoos . . . “ said my boss.

“What about my tattoos?” I asked.

“One says ‘MOTHER,’ and the other is a woodpecker smoking a cigar,” he said.

“What’s your point?” I asked.

I explained that Dennis Rodman has more tattoos than Robert De Niro did in “Cape Fear” and that it would take an average person more than 30 minutes just to read Dennis Rodman, unless that person had taken one of those speed-reading courses by Evelyn Wood.

“And those earrings . . . “ said my boss.

“What about my earrings?” I asked.

“They’re not in your ear,” he said.

“I like wearing earrings in my nose,” I said. “Tomorrow I might wear a nose ring in my ear. Or an ankle ring on my tongue.”

I explained to my boss that freedom of expression is a fundamental birthright in this great nation of ours and that any government of the people, by the people, for the people permits me to wear green hair and tattoos, with liberty and justice for all.

“But you look weird,” said my boss.

“Who is to say who looks weird?” I said.

“I am,” he said.

“Could I wear red hair?” I asked.

“Red hair isn’t weird,” he said.

“Is red hair weird on Dennis Rodman?” I asked.

“It is,” he said.

“I rest my case,” I said.

I explained that it shouldn’t matter if my hair is pink and if I have more tattoos than the crew of the H.M.S. Bounty or if I have my bellybutton pierced.

“But why Dennis Rodman?” my boss asked.

“Why Dennis Rodman what?” I asked back.

“Why make yourself look like him?” he asked.

“Well, see, I’m going bald,” I said.

“Yeah?”

“And I’m gaining weight,” I said.

“So?”

“So, I need a role model,” I said.

“You’re bald and overweight, but chose Dennis Rodman as a role model?” he asked.

“No, I chose Charles Barkley, but he refused,” I said.