Monday, November 7, 2016

Thirty Good Seconds

I need to consume a massive amount of whiskey tonight. And wash it down with a bucketful of beer.

What the hell are you talking about? It's fucking Monday night - you just barely jumped back in to the cesspool.

Doesn't matter - everything is so shaky. So unpredictable. Just when my life is supposed to get easier, it gets harder.

That's life, baby - it is a goddamn swamp full of alligators. You make your way through as each of your limbs and eventually your internal organs gets ripped off and out of you. Every once in a great while you inadvertently smile through the painful shrieks. Those are the high points.

That is the stupidest fucking analogy I have ever heard.

You know who the blueprint for survival is? It's that Monty Python knight who gets his limbs hacked off and keeps hopping around saying "only a flesh wound." That's life in a nutshell.

What the hell is the point of life lived that way? What is the point of being alive?

Thirty seconds of happiness in eighty years of life. That's it. The trick is to recognize that thirty seconds for what it is and then tell everybody "I have had a good life". Because that is what people want to hear.

I'm thinking about stabbing myself in the chest with an ice pick just before jumping off the side of the Grand Canyon with a bottle of whiskey in my left hand, an ice cold beer in my right, with the hope of breaking my spine in the belly of what is most beautiful about America.

That would be cool.

You would like that, wouldn't you?

Goddamn right. I would record it and post it to facebook.

You wouldn't care that I chose to die?

Christ no; caring is the problem. If you care about anything in your life it exponentially multiplies the agony. The trick is to not care at all. That way the suffering is meaningless.

I'd rather be dead.

You're kind of dead already, right?

What are you talking about?

Well, if you are thinking you'd rather be dead, you really are dead already. So save us the bloodshed and the horrific waste of good whiskey and beer. Live the rest of your life like a zombie just like the rest of us do, and when death comes you won't even know it.

Talking to you is so damn comforting. Let's get out of here. Let's get Monday-night-wasted.

Now you're talking.

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