From the moment we're born we begin dying. I don't really care how that happens. Whether you were birthed in the backseat of a taxicab in New York, you dropped out your momma's uterus in a kiddie pool with a midwife, or whether she pushed you out with a crew of doctors and nurses present in a hospital. Welcome to the world, you're dying.
I can't speak for anyone else, as much as I want to or try to, so I'll limit this to personal experience. I don't make good decisions. I make shitty choices. I'll make more in the future. There are things that I work on to help offset the consequences from these choices. There are even things that I do in an attempt to re-wire the circuitry in my brain; a preemptive strike on destructive behavior.
Most of my shit centers around addiction: alcohol, food, drama, self-pity, people pleasing, and poor self-esteem; I am addicted to being the center of attention and being in chaos. I'm kind of a piece of shit for it. I also do a fuck ton of work to make myself less of a drain on society. Being human is hard. Working on becoming a better human is admirable, especially when you know what you're already up against.
I also lack impulse control. I'm all about instant gratification. I don't want that 5-minute rice in the prescribed 5 minutes, I want it 3 because I have other shit to do. Delayed gratification? What's that? The only type of delay I'm into is one where a dreaded appointment is pushed back or canceled altogether for reasons beyond my control. I love it when I'm not to blame. It's not my fault, it's yours.
For the most part, I want people to like me. Mostly. That is, of course, unless you're trying to push a pyramid scheme of shitty health supplements on me. Health supplements that, as you tout, will help prolong my life.
I became acquainted with a little dude I met at a local park not long ago. I was handing food out to the homeless community there, he offered to help my son and me. I was thankful for the help. After spending a couple of hours together, it didn't seem odd to become social media buddies. As it turns out, we were members of the same gym. I think we still are members of the same gym, we just don't fucking speak to one another anymore.
Creepy McCreepster would corner me every chance he got to enthusiastically pummel me with information about his available products. There was a social awkwardness about him that put my own to shame. I felt sorry for the kid, I bought some shit from him to help get his little business going. Playing it safe I bought collagen tablets because who doesn't want firmer skin? A firm ass and glowing skin; that was the goal. Unfortunately, I don't do pills well. They sat in the cupboard, my ass stayed droopy.
Relentlessly I received message after message telling me how these products would "change my life." No, dude, you leaving me the fuck alone will change my life right now. When I wouldn't buy more, it became, "Who do you know that I can help?" Fuck off! More like "Who can I harass?" If not being cornered at the gym, I was being inundated with messages on social media. I've had actual stalkers who irritated me less.
Finally, I decided to tell him to go pound sand. Some of the sales tactics were fucking ridiculous. Laughable even. I remember, at one point he compared my life performance to an underachieving child. He asked, "How would you feel if your child were getting D's and C's in school? Their reasoning, was that they were passing and they were content with that?" Little buddy, did you just assume it was okay to tell me that I am skating by in life just doing the bare minimum? Now we have beef.
I told him his pitchy bullshit made me uncomfortable. Could we just be friends? To my utter shock, the answer was a hard no. Fine, go fuck yourself, toadstool. I hope your herbal cleanse and Spark energy enhancer keep you company in the long hours of solitude and inevitable financial hardship ahead of you. Failure is imminent. Also, whoever trained you did a shitty ass job, I'd ask for my money back if I were you.
I take care of myself physically, I don't need to go balls-out with a bunch of synthetic bullshit created in labs and peddled by people with insecurity issues more daunting than the ones I'm packing. And what the fuck for? Honestly? Live longer? For what? It would be different if we all lived in a goddamn Utopia, let's get fucking real though. When was the last time you turned on the television and all the stories were heartwarming? How about even half of them? A third? Right, so how about you take your creatine powder and amino acid supplements and shove 'em straight up your performance elite ass?! Pass me the butter, which I like to call happiness.
We're all dying here. None of us are going to get out of this with a 'get of jail free' pass. Why not try being less of a piece of shit? We've all heard of carbon footprints. How about the impact we have on others? We ought to have designated people to police douche canoes. Is there a way to form a committee of chosen individuals that one can contact to intervene in situations when someone has proven themselves a certified asshat? What might some possible penalties be for infractions?
This blog has gone on longer than I originally intended; much longer than my usual 30 minutes or less and satisfaction isn't promised. Wherever you are, little buddy, [probably cracked out on Spark energy supplements] I hope you find your way in the shitty pyramid of health supplements and that you never EVER contact me again.