Posts Tagged ‘philosophy’

In 8th grade my history teacher had us select songs to represent a battle in the Civil War. My partner and I chose Gettysburg because it was the only one we could pronounce. It also sounded a little Jewish. The song we chose was “We’re Not Gonna Take It” by Twisted Sister. It was a perfect song to represent the battle. The North was getting their asses handed to them, but decided they would no longer take the anal pounding from the South any longer. Twisted Sister offers a lot of valuable advice in that song. Valuable advice that can sometimes backfire.

(One day Dee Snider’s dad let him wear a pink shirt to school. The next day, this happened)

It’s always good when someone stands up for themselves. I applaud anyone who can. Thing is, we all think we’re Rodney Dangerfield. For those of you born after the year 1988, Rodney Dangerfield was a comedian whose gimmick was about how he doesn’t get any respect. What made Rodney so successful was his ability to relate to the audience. Most drunk comedy audiences feel like shit. Probably because they are shit. I think most of us feel like we’re the underdog. We feel like losers who will never accomplish what we strive for. We’ll do things like find a scapegoat. Anything but take the blame for the problems in our own lives. It wasn’t our inability to look where we were walking that is to blame for our stubbed toe. It’s the fault of whoever snuck into your home and moved the walls into a position you are not used to.

A lot of energy is exhorted changing who you are and what people think of you. Lots of people say everyday that from now on they will speak their minds. They will not be pushed around. Very few do much about it. They may talk back to someone who doesn’t deserve it. Weak people are usually the targets of these randomly deciding to seize the day after 40 years of life people. You can’t change yourself over night. Even if you can, nobody else will change. You won’t be the person who is cool and confident all of a sudden. You’ll be the overnight asshole. There is a difference between standing up for yourself and being a jerk to friends out of nowhere. It’s a very fine line. Standing up for yourself would involve an immediate “No, I’m not going to do (insert heinous sexual act here) for you. I don’t care if it’s the anniversary of your mother’s death! I’m not doing it! I’ve got a dentist’s appointment tomorrow.” Being a jerk would go more like “No. Fuck you. Blow yourself.” If you stand up for yourself you have to explain why. Most people respond well when you tell them you feel like they’re treating you poorly. The rest are probably politicians.

(“Open your mouth like this then put it inside. You don’t even have to wear the goalie mask this time. I’ll be fine.” – an upset husband trying to get across to his slacker wife that he has needs too)

There have been moments in my life where I fantasize about becoming a total heel. Strangers will ask me questions and instead of answering them I will scream their flaws into their faces. Possibly in Spanglish. Anyone who speaks in Spanglish is a jerk-off. It doesn’t make you cool. It’s not like Elfish where you could actually get around Middle Earth knowing. When people speak Spanglish they always leave the good stuff in Spanish so I cannot understand. This always bugs me. And you wonder why we only masturbate to your Spanish language channels? See, I’ve wanted to say this to Spanish people before. Right to their faces. Possibly pushing their eyelids down hard with my thumbs. What I really wanted to say here was that you can’t go off always speaking your mind. Even people who claim to not have a filter, do. I heard the new thing for being an ass who says insensitive things is called Asperger’s. Finally, a label to give myself as a free ticket to insult others. I’m not a dick, I have a disease.

 (This is a popular children’s show for Spanish-speaking people. Slutty women reenact scenes from Spongebob Square Pants)

My whole opinion on people taking control of their lives can all be summed up in this paragraph. Sorry for making you read the rest. I’d feel like I was cheating you otherwise. You went through all that trouble unknowingly giving me your credit card information by visiting this site that I felt I owed you. Anyway, being someone who decides to be a take-no-shit fool is a problem when they run into another person who has decided to do the same with their life. What happens when two timid people who are pretending they aren’t rugs to be walked on clash? You end up with even bigger problems. You can’t have everyone saying things need to change. We end up with a bunch of bossy folk. One passive person pretending to be in charge will argue with another passive person pretending to be in charge. Truth is, neither really are very good at being the boss. They’re just two people like the rest of us angry about certain aspects in their life. They’re eager to change it, but there are better ways than to make a declaration about how you won’t let people treat you poorly anymore. I’ll let you know when I think of one. I’m sure it’s out there.

(We get a world of Angelica Pickles if we all start to aggressively push others around to satisfy our own needs. Be a Tommy Pickles. He’s loyal, clever, and probably has a learning disability from all the hours he has spent unsupervised)

The real message I want to get across is that life is not like some movie where you can start behaving a new way and get a positive result. You shouldn’t let people boss you around, but thinking if you treat people the way they treat you will fix things is not right. Maybe we can try being honest from the start with people. The first time they do something to piss you off, let them know. That way you won’t be in a position in your life where everyone seems out to get you. Your behavior will also be expected and not as frowned upon. Everybody wins. Nobody makes you clean a mess you didn’t make and they’re not shocked when you actually don’t act cowardly.

“We’re not gonna take it. No. We ain’t gonna take it. We’re not gonna take it. Anymore.” – lyrics written by Dee Snider, an ugly man who dressed as woman in the 1980s and still looked ugly. Some people are just destined to not be very attractive no matter what gender

Fighting rules. I don’t care what anybody says. Seeing two men slug it out with their firsts, a couple arguing at a restaurant with their words, or a schizophrenic smashing his own head into a tree while his second personality dukes it out with his ninth is awesome. As cool as fighting is we’re told that it’s bad. We get suspended from school and asked to clean out our desks by the end of the afternoon when we do it. When two people can’t fight and get their rage out on each other something so terrible happens. They begin a war of passive aggressiveness. Going back and forth with snide comments, not being completely truthful about the problem at hand, and overall acting like children.

I don’t remember hearing the term passive aggressive until the last few years. The only thing I could relate it to would be the phrase “beat around the bush.” This doesn’t mean slugging ex-presidents in the face or bitch slapping a hairy vagina. The phrase conjures up the image of a man hitting a bush, as in shrub, with a long black stick. What it means is that you’re not being straightforward. You’re beating around the bush instead of doing the normal thing and jabbing the stick straight into the center of the bush to kill the squirrel. Beating around the bush and being passive aggressive solves nothing. All you’re left with is a bush missing its little green things. I refuse to call what a bush has leaves. If you can’t easily rake it into a pile and urinate on top knowing a child will later jump in, it’s not a true leaf.

(Guarantee one of these kids ends up having a tossed into the air cat turd land in their face)

Mostly the passive aggressive people I encounter are children. Not all of these “children” lack pubic hair and wear Donald Duck underpants still. A member of the children population to me is anyone who behaves the way you’d expect someone who still thinks you must pee inside of a woman’s butt to impregnate her would. Activities such as tattling, wearing shoes untied, and mistaking freckles for shit stains on their hands join in with being passive aggressiveness. These children will be angry at someone else. Instead of saying “That makes me angry because–” they’ll leave little hints about their displeasure because someone didn’t go to their dead parent’s funeral. My rule, if you never met the person then there’s no need to go to the funeral. I would hate it if people I didn’t like went to my death celebration. The only thing worse would be people I never even met. I swear, if someone I don’t know shows up at mine, I’m haunting them.

Every high school and college girl I know/have known is extremely passive aggressive. And like with the definition of children, my definition of girl is different from yours. A girl is anyone whose ass I could easily kick. My fighting style is mostly squirming and quick foot work. I can shuffle my feet with the best of them. Humans who lose to me in a fight have to be the outer shells of ovaries. I think girls this age are passive aggressive because they still have hope that one day everyone will like them. At a certain age, women stop giving a shit if they’re liked or not. They are no longer passive aggressive, as much. When someone pisses them off they’ll tell that person how angry they are. Then they get put in a nursing home and the rest of the family lives burden free. Kind of sad, but at least now you understand why so many young women can be cruel.

(Joan Rivers is 211 years old and isn’t afraid to tell you that she does not like you. All she fears is losing her heavenly voice)

Facebook is the home to a lot of passive aggressiveness. Instead of telling your ex how much you hope they die, people will post song lyrics. Songs about being hurt but how you’re a stronger person without them around. I hate songs like this. I don’t need to be reminded that Sting has relationship trouble. What’s that say for my future when he has thoughts of failure? He’s fucking Sting! He has a wrestler named after him. Muhammed Ali would frequently mention his name during taunting interviews explaining his abilities. A more sane thing to do to get back at someone is not publicly post about how much of a wimp you are. Why are people online so obsessed with letting everyone know about their emotions? This is why art sucks so much. We pass up on creating something beautiful and use our anger to complain or post frowny faces. The only time you should post a frowny face is when you want to let people know you’ve just had a stroke.

The best thing to do when people are being passive aggressive is to tell them to cut it out. Let them know they you get it, they’re mad. The problem is we’re so afraid of failure. Our own fears of failure mean we assume others will hate that failure. We’re nice enough that we don’t actually tell that person how much they suck. So we do it in a passive aggressive way. That ends up helping nothing. Next time someone screws up and does something that makes you angry, get angry. Passive aggressiveness is an oxymoron. You’re being aggressive yet passive about it all. What’s the keyword in oxymoron anyway? It’s moron. And that’s what you are. A moron with the social skills of an ox.

(Hey look, even an ox takes on their problems head-on. What’s your excuse?)

What’s the greatest thing about white males? Is it how dominant we are? How everything except for peanut butter and the film Juno were invented by us? Really, white males are the undisputed champions of people. Yeah we die a lot and we’re kind of pricks. Remember though, God is a white male. It’s only natural that we are so incredibly awesome.

(This is what it looks like to me any time a group of white men are together. Except for maybe Dean Cain. He looks kind of Spanish here)

For some of you, this opening paragraph may have offended. Here are the people I think it may have offended most. First and foremost, women. Women are pretty easy to offend. All you have to do is make them feel less superior. A simple way to do that is quoting any textbook before 1965. Secondly, non-white people. Non-white people are offended by things because they aren’t always identified by a color or a made up word like Caucasian. At least calling someone African or Asian lets you know where they’re from. There’s not place called Caucasia. If it did exist that would be quite a paradise. A place with only white people? I’d probably have at least one home run record if I lived there. The only other group of people whom may have been offended were those that believe God isn’t a white guy. I mean come on. How ridiculous is that? He clearly is. Look at the Sistine Chapel. God clearly looks like a Frenchman.

 (“Oui Oui” – Ted 11:83. I can’t believe this image hangs on the top of a church)

I don’t like to offend people. Well, I do, but I don’t. I like to offend people to the point where their opinion sways. I hate to offend people and then get into an argument with them. I’m not a confrontational person. I hate having thick lips puttering in front of my face telling me I’m wrong. That’s why I usually keep my opinions to myself. Except on this blog. If I really don’t like you I can always block you or point out how lame you are for getting mad about something you read on the Internet.

I’m not a fan of people who are easily offended. I understand certain things should offend people. I can’t think of an example, but I’m sure it’s out there. And there’s a difference between being “offended” and actually hating someone’s actions. Someone doing something evil isn’t offensive, it’s just a bastard-move. So don’t say a murderer offends you. Say he’s someone who does bastard-moves and you’re quite displeased with it.

 (Amanda Knox, bastard-movist. No way this sweet face is guilty)

If you’re reading this, chances are not much offends you. I know my readers, they’re pretty tame on that scale. But I’m sure one lame ass is here. Possibly looking for pictures of tennis players or something else stupid. For you, easily offended douche, I want to help you get over your childish need to feel your heart sink whenever something hits a nerve. Here is a quick guide on how to stop being such a pussy.

Stop being important! That’s the first thing you need to do. Realize that your problems aren’t the most important ones in the world. Anyone who is easily offended is full of themselves. They think the issues they care about should be the most dominant ones in the hearts of the rest of us. And what makes an issue important to someone? It affects them. It’s simple, people only care about issues that involve them. You think I really care about gay marriage, affirmative action, or the music program at the local high school? I don’t. Not one bit. I’m never marrying a guy, have even less of a chance of being black, and if I ever join a high school musical class chances are I’m a gay black person already.

Things that offend people are always jokes. Nobody gets offended by a movie about a particular sensitive subject, but a joke about it will offend. Because not everyone takes their issue/problem as seriously as they do, they try to make the rest of us the bad guys. “You can’t make fun of that! That happened to me!” Shut your face. I never got being offended by something somebody else said. Why not fight back? It’s such a coward move to cringe and stick your chin up then say “That’s offensive.” Yes, and? Stop being a wimp before someone hits you in your high and mighty moral jaw.

(The way all easily offended people should turn out)

Now I doubt anyone reading this, whether it be true or not, thinks they are easily offended. Nobody would admit to that. That’s why the phrase “I love to laugh, but–” exists. Truth is, most people have horrible senses of humor. What makes a person have a bad sense of humor? Being offended by a joke ever. It’s one thing to feel uncomfortable or to acknowledge how much it stunk, but really be truly offended the same way you would feel if someone hurt you deeply is silly.

I guess my point through this whole “rant” was to hopefully get one person to read this and think “Hey, I am a big baby. I need to stop only caring about my own agenda and let other people do what they want.” I think I missed the mark though. It’s like I was playing darts in the bar and instead of hitting the board I put the dart into the nutsack of the bartender standing 10 feet behind me. Anyway, keep not being offended. Creative people usually aren’t. So if you’re offended easily, you’re not creative. Stop making shitty flute music and photography.

What offends you? The only thing that offends me are people who are oblivious to how much they suck. And don’t worry, I am aware of my suck factor.

How do you make a friend in college? Same as anywhere else. You talk to them, earn their trust, share a deep secret about yourself, learn a deep secret about them, use them for a couple of car rides, threaten them with exposing their deep secret if they don’t let you copy their homework, admit your deep dark secret wasn’t true anyway when they threaten to do the same, and always high-five them when you spot each other on campus. It’s much the same as anywhere else. The hardest part of making friends is starting a conversation. That’s where the key to college friendships lies. The college conversation starter, asking someone about their major.

My college major was Radio/TV. I figured I listen to the radio and I watch TV. It’s destiny. All I remember about radio is the term “boxcar” which is something that nobody has to do anymore due to the fact that computers play all the songs. All I remember about TV class was white balancing and making sure the tripod was straight by having a little bubble be inside of a larger bubble. I was so bad at these classes that I only got A’s when it was mandatory to give an A if you did what you were told. During one filming session I was in charge of the camera. I had no idea how to use it and after an amazing 30 minutes of shooting the director went back to listen to it. No sound. I had plugged the chord into the wrong place. I blamed the cute actress who I’m pretty sure caught me peeing in the woods.

(Somewhere in here Dick Clark is waiting to die. That’s what we in the humor business call a callback joke! Too bad it took a few days)

I never made too many friends in college outside of the majors I had. Most of the kids were pretty weird. There was one girl I tried to make friends with. I made a joke about killing a dog and she laughed. I really wish I remembered what it was because never have I made a girl cackle like that before or again. I think she’s quarterback for the Eagles now. She was going to school for nursing. That’s about as far as we talked. We were in a group and I asked her what her major was. She said nursing. I said mine. Then we kind of sat there staring at each other and I added her on Myspace 5 months after classes ended. At least she accepted. Did she even know who I was? Probably not. She called me Tom at least twice.

 (She was one letter off and look how close the “i” and the “o” are. I forgive you tiny blonde girl)

It makes sense that such a boring topic would be the conversation starter for college kids. In general, people in college are pretty boring. At least us non-college kids can talk about our Target credit card bills and check engine lights. Kids in college don’t have those things in their life. It’s all about whatever their majoring in. That is their life. If you’re going to school for nursing, all you talk about are stethoscopes and diarrhea. Those majoring in philosophy quote dead Romans who believed the sun revolved around a flat earth. You know, guys who really had worldly knowledge despite never leaving their county or province. Students who say they major in anything that involve computers spend most of their time playing World of Warcraft. They don’t consider it a time waster. They say it’s research.

Even while not talking to other students, college kids are asked what their major is by adults. “You go to Shitface University? What’s your major?” could be an example of what someone might say to a college student upon finding out that they are a Rutgers student. Nobody really cares about what your major is. They always give the same reaction. They head pull back, possibly to the side, eyebrows raised, followed by an “Ohhh that sounds interesting” despite it never being. Unless your major involves flapping your asshole in my face and you are a hot college girl, I don’t really care what it is you’re studying.

After retiring from college no longer will people ask you what your major is. Now they ask you what you do. What I do is hope that someone I’m related to wins the lottery and I can just sit around getting fat until the day I die. That’s really what I’m doing. Through all of the work I’m only doing it in hopes that I somehow begin the butterfly effect that causes this rhetorical family member to win a jackpot. If you believe in the butterfly effect, as in a butterfly flapping it’s wings could cause a hurricane somewhere else, you have to believe that you might be responsible for the Japanese tsunamis last year. Really, that happened last March. I was pretty stuffy last March. Blowing my nose all the time. I claim ownership over the death of all of those Japanese people. That is if you believe in the butterfly effect which isn’t even what the film Butterfly Effect is about. Pretty poorly titled considering they mean different things.

(When will we hold butterflies accountable for all of the deaths caused in natural disasters? Go out and kill one today. You’ll save a lot of lives)

Only again will someone ask you about your major when they find out that you went to the same school. Or if they’re a nosey bitch. You might find yourself years out of school with some mustached retard at work claiming he also went to Shitface State, archrival of Shitface University. You’ll find out that you graduated the same year then he’ll ask you what your major was. Like that changes anything. You still didn’t know each other back then. It’s just something he’s saying to get into your pants. I don’t care if you’re both straight guys. If the conversation ever gets that horrendously non-eavesdrop worthy it means someone is trying to do something to someone else’s butt.

I was getting off a train recently when I had a personal revelation. No, I didn’t discover I was gay. This isn’t some weird fan fiction where I make out with one of your favorite Harry Potter characters. If I had to make-out with a male character from Harry Potter it would definitely be Snape. Alan Rickman is older which means he is more experienced. He’s kissed so many women he’ll be eager to kiss a man. Not to mention, I know of at least two people reading this who are in love with him. I know that fact for a fact. So my lips touching his will not be something I will discuss today nor ever. I’m not going to go into how he might gently hold my back, rub his rough facial hairs against my chest, or how his voice might sound whispering warm air into my ears. That will turn this from a family friendly blog into some creepy word-porn.

(He can take over my Nakatomi Plaza any day)

As I walked down the stairs I looked around me to take in who was there. It was mostly gang bangers. Maybe they weren’t all in gangs, but for the sake of sounding shocking I will call these tattooed thugs in gold chains and baggy pants gang bangers. I guess if they were all in gangs they would be more of a nation. These were the guys getting off the train. The people getting on the train were a lot different. They were girls with high butts. Not big butts or necessarily nice ones. Just high ones. Asses placed a little too out of reach for a child to grab onto. Midgets couldn’t sexually harass these ladies. I’m almost certain one of the girls had an ass on the back of her head. Try imagining that with a ponytail. Yuck.

What exactly was my revelation? It’s simple. I am more of a gang banger than I am a girl with a high butt. Everything about my life is closer to these gang bangers. These hardened criminals. Section 8 dwelling, gangsta rapping, wearing a baseball hat of a team I don’t even know the name of gang bangers. It’s more than the fact that both of us decided that our nights should be over with on a Saturday night at 10 whereas girls with high butts are just getting started. It’s much deeper.

(Deep like this, the remains of Ground Zero, NYC. Yeah, I always thought the Twin Towers were much bigger too)

Girls with high butts are fantastic to look at. If you’re one of these girls, please continue making your ass looking so incredibly high that it’s a target to have a plane flown into. I would love to date a girl with a high butt. Even if people are constantly jumping off it to their deaths, there’s something sexy about a high ass. How many more things that are high in the sky can I make a reference to? I think what I love about high butts is that it makes legs look longer. I love a girl with long legs. Ones that could wrap around me like a python. These girls do need to know one thing. You’re not smart. Sorry, but God gave you an ass so close to heaven that and above the clouds so you didn’t need to ever have an intelligent thought. Be happy with what you got. And stop thinking your take on life is unique or interesting. You have a high asshole. The only thing you should do at parties is shit out of it onto all of the heads of the people below. Get it? Because the ass is so high that–forget it.

What do I have in common with gang bangers? Nothing really. I’ve never been to jail nor do I hate people because of a certain color they might wear. Except yellow. Nobody looks good in yellow. I do believe however that I can relate more to a gang banger than a girl with a high butt. Most people join gangs because they’re lonely, want friends, and are easily bullied into things. Sounds like me! Girls with high butts only care about one thing. Themselves. I never understood anyone who doesn’t start their evening until 11pm. Unless you work at Staples, you’re asking for trouble not going out until then. One time at a Manhattan Subway at 3 in the morning a scary black guy ran in, grabbed a skinny Spanish guy’s phone and broke it on the ground. Am I really supposed to believe that their evenings began around 7? No way in hell. They didn’t even start to do their hair until around 8. Nothing good ever happens when it’s dark. Have you ever heard of an afternoon rape? That’s what lunch is for. It keeps rapists occupied for a half hour every day.

(After eating an apple, a half pint of chocolate milk, and whatever other goods are in that brown bag, nobody feels much like raping)

I’m not sure what exactly it is I’m trying to get across here other than I can’t see myself ever getting along with a girl with a high butt. Only certain girls like me. They’re always a reject of some part of society. Girls with high butts are never rejects. They always belong. Gang bangers are also better than they are because at least a gang banger has story that doesn’t start with what the office clown did and end with her carrying a broken high heel chasing after a taxi. If you’re a girl with a big butt, I hate you. You have no purpose in my life. I will forever choose a conversation with a gang banger over you. At least they’re not loud and obnoxious. At least they will never give me an erection and completely ignore me when I smile at them.

Being a teenager sucks! The cops are always harassing you, parents are always yelling saying you need to eat your vegetables, and teachers won’t get off your ass about how important geometry is. Really kiddos, geometry is something I use everyday. Every night after dinner I grab a protractor and measure the width of my asshole. I’m kidding of course. Why would I need to do that more than once? It doesn’t change. Geometry is pretty pointless unless you’re a carpenter. Nobody really sets out to be a carpenter either. Usually they’re failed architects. And just because you enjoy Legos doesn’t mean you should aspire to be an architect. It’s a much more boring job than it sounds. If you’ve seen Prison Break and remember how Michael Scofield spoke you’d know.

(Wanna bet he put more time into getting these fake tattoos on then he has working since Prison Break went off the air?)

The hardest part about being a teenager though is finding a place to drink. They’ve got these crazy laws in the United States. You’re not allowed to drink until you’re 21! It’s insane. Everybody knows that 15-year-olds are totally responsible enough to handle their alcohol. That’s one of the dumbest things that teenagers argue about. If American kids could drink when they were under 21 nothing would ever get done. Justin Bieber would be begging for change and Dakota Fanning would be a prostitute.

(Wait, wasn’t she 12 last week?)

I would like to do a service today and let my teenage readers know where the good spots to drink are. I know, I’m a swell guy like that. The first place I would like to mention is my apartment. Yes. All teenagers are welcome to come to my apartment at any time to drink. If anyone asks though you didn’t get the booze from me. You got it from your parent’s liquor cabinet. Here are some perks about drinking in my apartment. For one, it’s inside. That means heating and air conditioning depending on the time of year. I also have a love-seat to sit on as well as a swivel chair. Parties are always more fun with a swivel chair around. I also have a bed. I think it’s a twin? Either way, it could easily fit two slender 18-year-olds who are interested in pursuing a career in modeling on either side of myself. Have I ever mentioned that I’m a modeling agent? I am now if that’s what you’re interested in.

Some of you might be a little uneasy about coming to a stranger’s apartment. Just because I’m strange doesn’t mean I have to always remain a stranger. That so sounds like something a child molester would say. Another place you can drink is at your friend’s house. Not every friend’s house either. It has to be at that one friend’s house. You know, the one whose parents don’t love them. Usually there’s a basement there. Usually this friend also doesn’t have a bed, just a cot. We all have had that friend at some point. The friend with the party house. This friend usually doesn’t amount to much. Nobody has ever done an interview saying “I knew I was going to win the presidential election when a friend of mine called me the biggest partier he knew.” There’s nothing wrong with being the party house kid. It can be a blessing. People will be nice to you because you’re the one person they know who won’t be upset if they throw up on your floor. It’s worth a life of working minimum wage jobs.

(In high school she was the prom queen. In the real world she burns her fingers on a the Fry-O-Later twice a day)

If you’re a more outdoorsy person, you could always have a bonfire. Remember though, these are illegal to do. Actually I’m not sure. But a bonfire has to be illegal. There’s no way a bunch of teenagers are legally allowed to build a giant fire even if it’s to toss a redheaded person into. I’ve been to one bonfire in my life. It was okay. Nobody fell into the fire. One person fell into the lake. All I remember was a lot of guys sitting around on coolers shirtless. They said that they were really hot and that’s why they took their shirts off. How about putting out the fire? A girl also had sex with three different guys in the woods that night. That was the rumor that the one kid whose dad was there started spreading. How does a dad show up at a teenager’s bonfire? No wonder I gave up drinking. It was always too awkward.

The most ridiculous place for a teenager to drink is the car. Teenagers do a lot of strange things in cars. They drink in them, smoke weed in them, have sex in them, everything but drive them. When I think about it, I never even drove my car when I was a teenager. I would sit in it and make racing noises. Call me old-fashioned, but drinking in the car seems sad. You render the car useless by doing so. Your life is that bad that you have to sit in your 1999 Hyundai trying to forget about how bad everything has become? Maybe I’m alone in this. I think if you have to do something that depressing in order to do it at all then you should wait 3 more years until you can do it in a more normal setting, like somewhere with a table.

Teenagers are always going to be drinking. I guess you can’t blame them really. What else is there for them to do? They have so much free time, no worries in life, and awkward pimples in even more awkward places. If it wasn’t for alcohol, teenagers would never have sex. And teenage sex is what makes ABC Family a successful cable channel. Really, how is always bringing sex into the equation family oriented? Families don’t talk about sex. They avoid it. The History Channel should be called the Family Channel. I never had a sex talk with a family member. Yet when I was 14 years old my dad sat me down to have a talk about how Hitler got all of his technology from ancient aliens and ice road truckers. That’s what a real family is like.

(My dad, Giorgio, telling me all about Ancient Aliens and how they built the pyramids and Statue of Liberty)

I used to get upset whenever someone achieved their dreams. I still do sometimes. I’m nowhere near achieving mine. Then a thought popped into my head. These successful strangers can’t all have rich parents who buy their way into fancy jobs. That’s too insidious and possible. I would like to instead believe that hard work eventually pays off.

(Nobody worked harder than Pete Rose and things turned out great for him)

There’s a saying goes “Give 110%” which if you know math is impossible. If anything giving 110% would mean you’re overexerting yourself. You’re doing more than anyone can possibly handle. You’ll end up going around 70% and maybe pulling a back muscle. Stick with 100%. It’s safer and you won’t get a hernia.

I like to have a reputation as a hard worker. I hustle when I need to. I put my heart and soul into most everything I do. Sometimes it pays off. Others it fizzles out. The thing about hard work is there was never a guarantee made that it would actually pay off. Imagine you were a pilgrim who helped to build the first colonies of the United States. You built a home from scratch. You helped skin a few animals for clothes. Then you caught a cold and died. You practically broke your back trying to begin a new life only to die. All of that so future people like me could live in a world without being made fun of for wearing belt buckles and thinking all women were witches. Thank you pilgrims. Your sacrifice means a lot to me.

(Thanks Laura Ingalls. You and your blind sister did a lot of helpful things)

In today’s world it’s easy to not work hard. We have robots that do most of our jobs. Some of us have chickens do it for us. We’re lazy. Why? Because we’re so far more advanced than we should be thanks to a few geniuses in a science lab. We’re living longer which means that we have many more tomorrows to do our laundry or shave our butts. Pilgrims didn’t have that luxury. They were married by 9 and grandparents by 13. John Smith, the guy that had sex with Pocahontas, he was 11! That’s actually probably not true. But you have to admit he acted 11 by falling in love with someone he could not verbally communicate with. John Smith was shallow. He liked Pocahontas for her looks. What could they talk about? Trees? Beavers? I’m glad I actually get to know women. I’m better than John Smith. Make a movie about me Disney.

(Captain John Smith, he doesn’t nearly look as much like Ike Hanson here as much as he did in the Disney Film)

It doesn’t matter where I go, I’m always seeing people on the job slacking off. They’re distracted by poop jokes in e-mails or drawing butterflies when they should be going over the Parson’s Account or picking their nose while taking an order. I could work much harder, but like you I love poop jokes, drawing butterflies, and picking my nose.

Here is a vow I will make to help the world. From now on I will never give 100%. I’ll give somewhere in the 40-50% range. Higher if I really need to. You might be thinking that this would accomplish nothing. Actually, this would force others to pick up the slack. One person giving 40% means that everyone else has to take some control and work a tad harder. The more lazy I become, the more other people have to do. The more hard work I do, the more lazy everybody else gets to be. Did Spock not say “The needs of many outweigh the needs of one?” I never saw the movie, I’m actually asking.

That’s my idea to help others achieve greatness. Be an awfully skilled human being. Don’t help out others. Never give good advice. People will no longer be able to lean on me for support. They will be forced to do it all alone. They will build up an immunity to success. They will be stronger and faster. The world will move smoother and productivity will be at an all-time high. Peace will shine over the lands. And the lion will lie down with the lamb.

(Lions have yet to lie down with the lambs, but apparently ducks have began to walk with the dogs. It’s a start)

Now begins my journey of laziness. Enjoy the view ladies. I’m going pants-less.

“My sacrifice.” – A Creed song about a baseball strategy with a man on first and less than 2 outs with a pitcher up at bat