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.
No comments:
Post a Comment