Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Center of the sunbeam, light show, flower seed
Belly buttons make great lint traps.
I’m not exactly sure how lint collects in your belly button, or where lint comes from, all I know is that it has something to do with stray clothes fibers, dead skin cells and body hair migrating up from the underwear through a process known as electromagnetic lintinization, beyond that, I’m as much in the dark as anyone else.
All I know is that, at the end of the day, when I check my belly button, there is almost always lint in there; that is, unless I break down and remove some lint during the day.
If you try to pick your lint too soon, then there’s nothing there, and if you wait too long, then there’s a chance it will fall out and you’ll be left with nothing to do while you’re masturbating.
You know, this belly button lint crap really isn’t doing it for me. I thought it would be funny, or at least a little disgusting, to talk about belly button lint and then compare how waiting just long enough to dig out your belly button lint is just like wisely investing your money; but I don’t think I have the heart to do that. Besides, if you don’t vary it up every now and again, you start to turn into a parody of yourself.
It happens to everybody sooner or later, there’s only so much original material that each of us has in us, in a way, it’s a lot like DNA; we can only think of four funny jokes, but we can combine them into endless pairs and build something funnier than what boobs, jerking off, molesting children, and Ashlee Simpson could ever be on their own.
It’s all a matter of when you peak.
There’s a lot of folks out there who had their best years early on, football heroes who knocked up their high school girlfriends at the prom and spent the rest of their vitality raising ungrateful children, Harper Lee, and that guy with whom you used to be friends in University who still calls you up every now and again, asking for money; for them, and for everyone, it’s important to know when to bow out and quit, and when to keep fighting.
Sometimes, you must go on.
Even if the only thing you have going for you is some puff piece about belly button lint, you’ve got to keep at it while there’s still enough piss and vinegar in you to sustain your resolve.
There’s no real shame in quitting, lots of people do it. Somewhere, there’s a young man who will grow tired of begging his girlfriend to touch it, go home angry, and jerk off into a pile of tissues. Somewhere, a young woman is dropping her newborn baby into a back alley dumpster and thinking about what she will wear to middle school tomorrow. Right now, you’re reading this blog instead of doing whatever it is you dream about doing.
I don’t see why quitting has taken on such negative connotations, people improve their health when they quit smoking or drinking, abused children breathe sighs of relief when their parent’s quit beating on them, and our eardrums will slowly recover when Madonna finally decides to hang up her hat.
Sometimes, there’s even honor in stepping down. Richard Nixon could have kept maintaining his innocence, but he chose to do the honorable thing. Napoleon could have stayed with his troops as they were slaughtered on the long march back to Poland, but he left with his retinue and traveled all the way back to Paris in style. Even George W Bush could have persevered, studied hard in school, and made something of himself, but, by quitting all of that, he went on to become president of the United States.
There comes a point when you have to look yourself in the mirror and ask yourself if it’s worth it to go on, and if you can still do that with a shred of dignity, then keep fighting; however, if, by carrying on the fight, you are about to make yourself look like a real asshole, then maybe it’s time to put away your guns, homemade bombs, and enemies list before things turn real ugly.
Who would you rather be, James Dean, burning up while you’re still young and beautiful, or Elvis, turning into a pill-popping lump and dying on the toilet?
I should have stopped writing a long time ago.
Sex Mahoney for President
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