Monday, October 27, 2008

My shirt is so comfortably lovely

This is an entry for the blogathong, which I heard about from Scary Scary Quite Contrary. I don't know many details about it other than people are expected to write a blog a day, Monday to Friday, for the next 17 days. I like that idea. I've been too lazy lately.

Send all complaint letters to

I know exactly what I want to do for the rest of my life.

The problem is that I can’t find someone who wants to pay me to do it.

In the meantime, I’m sticking to recession proof industries with good benefits and a robust retirement plan… drug dealing, prostitution, and lion taming.

Long-term, I only know two things: I want to see every single human being naked at least once, and I want to smoke a lot of pot.

That’s not too much to ask, is it?

It would seem as though it is, because most people don’t want you to see them naked. They usually start screaming about privacy laws while their virile boyfriends beat you about the head and face with your own binoculars, which is an insult on two counts since binoculars are a lot more expensive than they by all means should be.

Even if people let you see them naked, they usually demand ridiculous concessions like a long term relationship, carte blanche for their insanity, or to be untied.

It’s much easier to just smoke a lot of pot.

Unfortunately, smoking pot puts severe restrictions on your career path since most employers randomly drug test their employees and marijuana is the only drug such tests are adept at catching. It would make a lot more sense to be a junkie, or snort a lot of cocaine, but clean needles are much harder to procure than you might imagine, and I’m not rich enough to develop a sincere cocaine addiction.

On the other hand, anyone with twenty bucks and some dirt can grow an inexhaustible marijuana supply for the rest of their natural life.

Life just isn’t fair.

The real trick to getting through unscathed is not in desiring what you don’t have, but in enjoying that which you already possess.

If you’re the kind of person who instantly regrets what you order from a restaurant upon seeing what everyone else is eating, then I’m talking to you.

With few exceptions, such as finding out your high school crush is working at a strip club, learning to play the bagpipes, or discovering a meal between breakfast and brunch, nothing is ever as good as you expect it to be; in fact, the longer you anticipate something, the more it’s going to disappoint you, that’s the real cause of postpartum depression. If you don’t believe me, then just think back to summer 1999 when you first say Star Wars: Episode 1 – The Phantom Menace.

If you never anticipate anything and have no hopes or dreams, then you’ll be pleasantly surprised when something nice happens.

Imagine how good you’ll feel if your enlightened attitude attracts a stranger to the point where they feel the need to suck your dick right then and there; I’ve got more than my fair share of public bathroom, hobo blowjobs that way.

Of course, I don’t mean for this to be an inducement to give up on everything. What would we be without hopes and dreams? Humans went from being the Cindy Brady of the class mammalia to the Sun Microsystems of apex omnivores; without our hopes and dreams, we would have never given up our comfortable, gazelle chasing, nature loving, hunting-gathering lifestyle and moved to our overcrowded and over exploited city and country sides where problems of our own making threaten to wipe out all life as we know it; would we? Absolutely not, we’d still be sitting around in tackily decorated caves, staring at the pictures on the walls and dying of easily preventable diseases, instead of living in our mortgaged homes, staring at our wall mounted flat screen TVs and dying of easily preventable diseases.

I’ve always thought that the creationists’ major fear of evolution was not that the stories in their favorite novel turned out to be fabricated out of whole parchment, but that, by logical extension, any one of the animal kingdom might one day hold dominion over the earth. If there’s one thing that keeps me awake at night, it’s thinking that my descendants might one day have to answer to dirty, stinking apes.

You can’t ever give up on your dreams, because that’s what keeps us going, despite the fact that we’re too stupid to ever get off this rotating sphere before the sun blows up and kills us all; so let’s all take a page from the creationists and keep hope alive.

No matter what your opinion on the subject, you have to admire creationists for their tenacity, because no amount of logic, rational thought, or beatings can ever convince them that they’re wrong, and if a family of shoeless hillbillies has the wherewithal to answer universal questions about the origin of life, then there’s something admirable in that, even if they’re more likely to procreate with a member of their immediate family.

I don’t mean to give the creationists a hard time; all of the major religions deserve at least a modicum of respect. Hell, they’ve been waiting for doomsday or a messiah for thousands of years; if someone is more than ten minutes late to meet me, I give up on them and masturbate instead, because there will always be other times to see your friends, but there’s only so many times you can masturbate in our short existences.

I guess I do know what I want to do for the rest of my life.

Sex Mahoney for President

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by Donovan
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