If I had a bunch of dummies

Sometimes life hands you a bunch of dummies, but why, who knows?

If I had a bunch of dummies I’d set them up on blind dates with internet strangers and then after the people felt a real connection and fell in love and had two beautiful children and then found out 50 years later that their spouse had been a stupid dummy this whole time I’d be all like “hahaha who's the dummy now?”

If I had a bunch of dummies I’d make them judges on Dancing with the Stars and then after weeks of grueling practice and constructive criticism and personal growth and emotional breakdowns the stars would realize the judges haven’t known anything about dancing this whole time because they’re just a bunch of stupid dummies and I’d be all like "hahaha who’s the dummy now?”

If I had a bunch of dummies I’d get them a table at the fanciest restaurant and the waitress would be all stressed out because they’d probably all want separate checks but then she’d realize that they were just a bunch of stupid dummies who didn’t even have bank accounts and I’d be all like “hahaha who's the dummy now?” 

If I had a bunch of dummies I’d get them a gig with a band that has a million members like Arcade Fire and I’d give them weird instruments to play like the wood block or the dustpan or the palm frond or the sponge and then when they got on stage Arcade Fire would be like “these are just of bunch of stupid dummies with no musical talent” and I’d be all like “hahaha who’s the dummy now?”

If I had a bunch of dummies I’d put them on the backseats of tandem bicycles and the person in the front would be all like “man this is exhausting I feel like I’m pulling all the weight here” and then he’d turn around and see that his tandem partner was just a stupid dummy this whole time and I’d be all like “hahaha who’s the dummy now?”

If I had a bunch of dummies I’d set them up in an empty loft space in front of a a bunch of computers, then I’d invite some wealthy investors over for a tour and after they’d invested millions in my new start-up they’d find out it wasn’t a business at all it’s just a building full of stupid dummies who didn’t even get an MBA from Stanford and I’d be all like “hahaha who’s the dummy now?"

If I had a bunch of dummies I'd wonder why life had handed me so many dummies and assume I was supposed to make lemonade out of them but then after hours and hours of "fruit"less squeezing I'd realize that dummy juice tastes terrible and then I'd look in the mirror at my own reflection and be all like "hahaha who's the dummy now?"