Bluebirds Got All The Answers

Johnny Fuckubot was talking to his friend.

Johnny F: I got real problems, man. I mean serious shit. Shit I gotta figure out. Right now. Right the fuck now.

Whoa, slow down friend. Can't nuthin' be that fucking urgent. What's goin' on?

Johnny F: I don't understand life. Never have. Probably never will. I mean, life has rules and those fucking rules are iron clad, my friend. No bend. No give.

Well, that's just the way it is. Those rules apply to everybody. Well, almost everybody. Except the ones who lie and cheat their way to money.

Johnny F: Here's what you don't understand. I am confused. And life feeds on confusion like cancer on the body. Know what I mean? I mean, as soon as you reveal confusion life says "Oh, boy - I got another one." And then it commences to eating your life away slowly and painfully until your path is narrow, it becomes the only path, and it leads in one inevitable direction.

Jesus, man - I've been trying to practice positivity, but you are making it a real challenge.

Johnny F: I need bags of money. All those fucking fools who say, mindlessly, money is the root of all evil are full of shit. It's the lack of money that is the root of all evil. I need money. So I can buy my way to dignity.

I can float you a fiver for now, man, if that helps.

Johnny F: Jesus Christ you don't understand. I need hundreds of thousands. Millions, even. What if I live 30 more years? Thirty years of rapidly escalating medical bills, thirty years of decreasing mobility, thirty years of wholesale deterioration. Money is the only thing that will grease me through all that shit. I don't have any. Don't know how to get what I need.

How old are you?

Johnny F: 64.

You won't make another thirty years.

Johnny F: Probably right. I feel that. I feel it every day when I crawl out of bed. Nothing specific but I definitely do not feel healthy. I am the kind of guy who will get that "You only got 6 months to live" diagnosis. Know what I mean? When it comes, it's coming all at once. But it will give me time to fucking think about it. Time to wallow in regret. Time to stew in the poisonous knowledge that I did not do anything with my life. Just let it fucking slip by.

That's dark, man.

Johnny F: Well you fucking brought it up. And speaking of time, I got no relationship with it except in connection to death. Every day is the same. The same boring, humiliating shit. Same worries, same sense of loss, same conviction that I have pissed it all away. Every day trickles by unnoticed. I feel like a cowboy who has lassoed my own tombstone and is dragging it closer day by day. That is the only way I see time.

You gotta lighten up, man. Have yourself a drink. Shit, have yourself a party.

Johnny F: The lottery presents a pretty realistic retirement option but I keep forgetting to buy tickets. I say to my wife, "How come we never win the lottery?" She says "Because you never buy tickets, dear." I say "Oh, yeah. Good point." Apparently I got some sort of fatal flaw in my ability to think logically. Might explain how I ended up this way. Painful realization.

I'm speechless.

Johnny F: I feel life eating away at me. Shit, I can hear it. Smell my life, my hopes, my dreams rotting away and dropping off.

What can I do to help?

Johnny F: Nothin'. Not unless you got a couple hundred thousand bucks laying around to give me.

I don't.

Johnny F: Forget about it, man. Don't worry about me. I am alone with my life. Been a loner all along. Didn't make the right moves, the right connections, the right decisions. Lost in a perpetual fog of confusion about how I fit in and what to do about it. Fuck it.

All right, JF - I gotta run. Gotta attend a meeting of The Bluebirds of Positivity Club. We're a happy bunch. Wanna come along?

Johnny F: Fuck that. I'd rather eat my own shit.

Good luck with that, brother.