I’ll ask you politely to check out the hot new v.3 Dear Diary graphical user interface. For those reading on the Internet, a group comprised solely of me and my dad, well, I’ll mail it to you.
It’s a horrible world we live in. Most people wake up five days out of seven and drag their ugly ass to a room full of other ugly asses relatively far away, often spending an hour and a half in traffic simply to arrive on time to a job they hate. Once you’re at work, you have either too much or not enough to do. You probably don’t get paid enough, or too much. If you don’t get paid enough, your life sucks because you can’t afford nice things, and sometimes, when it gets tough, you can’t afford things, things you actually need. You don’t need a boat or a $10 pack of cigarettes or a $5,000 stereo but you do need food and clothing and sometimes you have pay for the food and clothing of others, which is something of a raw deal but it’s your debt to society, since your parents took care of you when you were too dumb and weak to take care of yourself. If you get paid too much, your life sucks in different ways. You can’t have meaningful relationships with other people, because your mind is slowly withering away from the relaxation caused by not having to worry about money. And if you are a decent enough soul that you manage to keep everything in perspective, chances are it won’t matter, because the men, women and children you choose to have meaningful relationships with won’t be worth the time you give them. Maybe one or two of them will be, but that’s a crappy way to go through life, sitting around waiting for people to disappoint you. Life is like Yellowstone Park, but in hell, full of giant geysers of poo waiting to drown you, bears with laser eyes cutting your fingers off, and lots of snakes. And if you get out of the park, the government is run by criminals, commercial radio sucks, everything costs too much, people anally electrocute cows and kill puppies with blowtorches, your body is slowly eating itself, most people are stupid, and everybody got too smart for religion to trick them into ignoring these things, although it was a nice run while it lasted.
In other news, an asteroid is going to collide with the earth on February 1, 2019, when I will be not quite 38 years old, which is not all that old, although I figure if I really mail in my twenties, I’ll be close to dead by then anyway. Which might not be that great an idea, especially if the asteroid doesn’t actually hit the earth, which is much more likely than it hitting the earth, since the astronomers who said the asteroid might hit the earth freely admit their calculations have margins of error in the millions of kms, and the asteroid is only 2 km wide, so it’s not going to hit the earth, except the article on CNN.com was titled “Asteroid will collide with earth in 2019” (or “may collide,” I can’t remember which) so, tough luck, we’re all going to die on February 1, 2019.
So I have some suggestions for the next seventeen years, to make things better: No more TV, except in waiting rooms and boring places where it’s hard to read.
Forget about everything else I have said, and most of the things other people have said. If I start talking again, continue to ignore me. Dress up like a fireman, if you want. Swing when you’re winning or something. Even if you have a lousy job, you still have 16 hours a day to do whatever you want, like dress up like a fireman, or sit in the park and leer at pretty girls or boys in an terribly unsubtle fashion, or spend $20 of the $32 dollars you made at work that day on beer and licorice to get you through the night. Buy expensive dogs. Trade lives with your neighbor for a week. Do not sell guns to kids.
When I was seven, Ferris Bueller told me not to believe in Beatles, but to believe in myself. He also told me that life is pretty short so if you don’t stop and look around every once in a while, you might miss it. He was remarkably prescient, in that the Beatles aren’t that great; as bands go, and life is very short, especially with the asteroid coming.
If you ever have kids, teach them how to ride bikes. You have to spend time with your kids. Kids get shitty when you don’t spend time with them.
Play as much Nintendo as you want. Do not sit so close to the TV.
Baseball is clearly the best sport. Don’t let baseball die. The people who write Star Trek think baseball is going to die sometime in the next fifty years. Do not turn them into prophets.
The one thing in my life that gave me the closest thing to pure unalderated joy was sliding down the stairs at my grandma’s house. An adult notified me, after sliding down those stairs for an entire afternoon, that I should not do that, because I would get carpet burns, and carpet burns are no fun. I was skeptical about this; I continued my stair-sliding rampage on the sly. I’d sneak off for a minute, slide down the stairs a few times, go back to the fam. It was fun. I later found out that carpetburns are horrible, horrible things. If you look at my class picture from third grade, I have a half-dollar sized carpet burn on my forehead.That was me, learning a lesson. The really good stuff is the stuff that not only can hurt but will hurt you. Gambling, drugs, driving fast. There was going to be a big sentence where I explained my painfully beautiful theory of why life is awesome through the carpetburn story but either A) I never had that sentence or B) I had it and I lost it. Shit state of affairs, but that’s the way I ordered my meal, apparently.
