Wednesday, October 1, 2008

I don't mind falling down and scraping up my knees


I’m wearing a pair of shoes bought in 2001.

At the time I bought them, I didn’t realize that I would wear these shoes in over twenty countries, because you don’t think about things like that when you’re buying shoes. You think about how they feel on your feet and how much they cost. Maybe if your one of those vain people, you think about how they look, but rarely do we ever think about the places we’ll walk unless we’re buying shoes for an express purpose like hiking or attracting sleazy men.

It’s a shame really, because if more people thought about what they would do with the things they buy, then people would make more intelligent decisions before parting with their money.

I don’t know if that would make the world a better place or not, but at least there wouldn’t be as many people with life sized Superman statues in their homes.

Then again, who am I to talk? I made a fortune selling subprime mortgages to Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac and I blew the whole wad on exotic cheeses and Franklin Mint collectible plates. Your current financial problems stem from my inability to eat Roquefort off of any plate that doesn’t have a picture of John Wayne or Elvis on it.

Most people don’t know even know what money is; sure, we all know that it can be exchanged for goods and services, but none of the people I pretended to ask while researching this piece in my imagination could tell me. Frankly, I don’t really know what to make of the whole thing other than it’s something with which you can buy yourself a lap dance or the legal freedom to kill lots of people for profit.

Some people look at money the way that even more deluded folks look at their deities; they think money will fix all their problems, make their wildest dreams a reality, and teach them how to divide by zero. Other people look at money as a necessary evil, one that allows them to live their lives with a certain amount of freedom, but keeps them imprisoned in things like work, family, and mob debt. Then there are those who don’t understand money and don’t try; they live like kings during high times, and sleep under bridges the rest. Finally, there are folks who have no need for money; they’re a proud people called the wealthy, and they have more money than they understand so they pay the first kind of people to turn their money into more money so they can live like the third group without having to worry about outdoor sleeping accommodations.

I’m not a rich man, but I’ve never exactly been poor either. Sometimes I have more money than it seems like I could possibly spend, but, sooner or later, I’ve run out of money and I have to go get more. I know that I would eventually like to be my own boss, but so far I can’t figure out where I’ll get the money to pay my salary or how I’ll steal my own office supplies behind my back.

Lots of people seem to be in trouble these days because of something to do with money, but I’ll be damned if I exactly understand why. Actually, that’s not true, I understand why; credit is too much temptation to leave in a spendthrift’s hands and people have a hard time distinguishing between what they need and what they want. Your spouse gives you what you need, the person you drunkenly felt up at an office holiday party gives you what you want, and that woman you and your friend double teamed after posing as alcoholics to pick up women at an AA meeting gives you something about which you should consult your doctor.

Not all the best things in life are free, but the ones that end in orgasm usually are, or, at least, they should be, but we’ve gone and mucked up everything by building a spending culture around something that should cost nothing. Ladies, the next time a man takes you on a date, don’t refuse to have sex just because the only dinner he can afford is a picnic in the canned food aisle at your local supermarket; and fellas, make sure that you fuck her before the date, so that she’s either too dazed to care that you’re picking half eaten sandwiches out of a fast food restaurant’s dumpster, or too disappointed to get back in your car.

There is more to life than sex, and that’s where they really get you. Cell phones? I know they’re convenient, but convenience costs money, and in the no research I just did on cell phone plans, the cheapest one I saw was about thirty bucks a month. Basic telephone service only costs about ten dollars a month, but that’s all moot because, with an internet connection, telephones are more or less obsolete.

Besides, who wants to talk to people anyway? All people ever have to say are boring things about themselves and people they know, which is nice if I care about the person to whom I’m speaking or know the people about whom they’re talking, but if I don’t, it’s a real drag; the other day, I was talking to my mother and she starts going on about my grandmother being in the hospital after a vicious dog attack or something, and I’m like, tell someone who gives a rats ass and tell that bitch my birthday card was suspiciously light this year. Living on a fixed income, my ass.

I don’t have a problem with cell phones other than that they’re just another device that eats up more of my precious time. Now that’s a commodity I have in short supply. Money, sure, whatever, take my money and leave me the hell alone, but time is so much more precious than little bits of paper because we’re only alive for a short amount of time and if all these Christians are right, then heaven doesn’t exactly sound like the kind of place that has an enormous scat porn collection; so, I’ve got to get all my shit video watching done while I can.

I don’t have time to worry about things like talking to people or buying a new pair of shoes.

Sex Mahoney for President


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Parachute
by Guster
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