My heat is well-known and self-evident. No fair observer of American popular culture could conclude otherwise. But in my frequent travels across this great country, I have faced the obvious question, often from schoolchildren and the elderly — “Mr. Mims, just why are you so hot?”

It was for them that I wrote my hit song, a song that has captured the hearts of this country and the world, a song called simply This Is Why I’m Hot.

But I am not content to rest on my laurels and allow this song, brilliant as it is, to alone speak for me and my all-surpassing hotness. I am grateful to bweinh.com, which has so kindly allowed me to briefly summarize some of the reasons for my hotness, in what is my original and most comfortable genre — the persuasive essay.

Reason One: I am fly.
It couldn’t be any simpler. I’m hot ’cause I’m fly. Even if you haven’t actually heard my entire song — which my agent assures me is physically impossible by this point — you are no doubt familiar with this, the central tenet of my chorus and the guiding principle for my life. As Descartes thought, as Helen Reddy was woman, as Spartacus was, well, Spartacus, so too am I, Mims, fly.

No further discussion is needed, but I will nonetheless press on.

Reason Two: I am universally popular.
I know this sounds prideful, but I would be unfaithful to my throngs of adoring worshipers if I pretended things were any different. A summary review of my first verse shows quite clearly that I attract vast support in areas as diverse as “New York,” “the Midwest,” “the Bay,” “the Chi,” and “the dirty dirty.” Can you do that? Legally?

Did you know that I make ladies bounce? What is more, my attire moves crowds from side to side! And, for goodness’ sake, my pimping has NEVER ONCE dragged!

This is why — THIS is why — THIS IS WHY I’M HOT!

Reason Three: I am fly.
Please see above.

Reason Four: Ladies love me.
I hold such sway throughout the nation that I can actually shut down stores for my own shopping pleasure (as in verse 2). As you might imagine, this is quite attractive to women!

But my warmth is not solely dependent on what I can do for the females; it’s also about what they can do for me! These things include complimenting me, staring at me, engaging in extramarital intercourse with me, or even just riding with me in my car. “All aboard,” I say!

Your love gives me wings, ladies.

And they are hot wings.

I thank you for your time.

Mr. Mims may be hot, I will admit. He makes a powerful and convincing case, if you take him at his word. But he’s left out a good deal of this story. And that’s an oversight I intend to correct immediately!

But first, let me also thank bweinh.com for giving me the chance to be relevant again, if only for the two or three days this article appears on their front page. The check is in the mail, folks!

But back to Mr. Mims. He tells you repeatedly that he’s “fly”; he says it twice in this essay and about 325 times in his song. Let’s ignore, for now, the question of what exactly it might mean to be “fly” (don’t those things breed in garbage?), and just assume he’s referring to some sort of external measure of attractiveness.

What he doesn’t tell you is that he regularly dips his hat below the level of his eyes, he has been known to wear a scarf of an apricot hue, and (in the most shocking and disturbing event of all) he frequently and intentionally watches himself gavotte!

Yes, I said gavotte!

No, I don’t know what it means either!

But that’s not the point. The point is that Mr. Mims’s popularity, his flyness, his attractiveness, his heat, if you will, is merely an invention of his own fevered mind, stewing in its own juices and grasping at any explanation for its rising temperature.

Mr. Mims is not hot, my friends — Mr. Mims is vain.

There’s no proof that song is even about him! Don’t you agree? Don’t you? Don’t you?

His travel, which he references, simply proves my point. Saratoga one week, watching horses; Nova Scotia the next, checking out the eclipse. Is this any way to maintain a relationship, Mr. Mims? Think of our children! And while I’m on the subject, do not think for one second that your admissions about extramarital intercourse will go unnoticed by my divorce lawyers!

Where was I?

Ah yes. Mr. Mims’s vanity. Forgive me for making this personal, but — I must.

Before Mr. Mims reached this pinnacle of popularity, before his name was known from “Frisco” to “the dirty dirty” or whatever, he was just my little Mimsy. My world. All the girls dreamed of being his partner, but I — I had him all to myself. He was mine. And we were so happy.

He said we were a pretty pair. He said he would never leave.

Excuse me…..

Ahem. But he threw it all away!! For “big spinners” and “getting on the floor” and “focusing on his cream” and hittin’ switches and hangin’ charms and all that gangsta-rap mumbo-jumbo gobbledygook!

What happened to my Mimsy?

What happened to us?

You’re vain, Mr. Mims. You’re SO vain.