I LIKE TO MAKE PRETEND SPEECHES
All right, when I tried to logon to WordPress tonight, I momentarily forgot my password. Not a good sign for the future. But I don’t want to end up abandoning this blog simply because of late I don’t enjoy anything that doesn’t directly involve eating McDonald’s in bed. Thus, I have to force out a blog entry. I just spent several minutes staring at the ceiling trying to think of a suitable metaphor for the act of cranking out a forced blog entry in the interest of hopefully spurring better future entries, and became momentarily distracted by a fantasy in which I’m shopping for pens in a Staples and bad guys come in and hold up the store, and I have to fend them off using office supplies in a creative and action-packed manner. Later on, after I’ve saved the day, I cannily purchase the security tapes from Staples and edit them together to make a low-budget, true-life action movie, making millions and becoming CEO of Staples in the process, becoming the world’s first action star to invent a homespun martial art based solely on the incorporation of office supplies, a fame further escalated when I inadvertently cripple Jean Claude Van Damme with a three-hole punch during a promotional demonstration in a parking lot at a grand opening gala in Charlotte, North Carolina. I elect him vice president of Staples by way of apology, a position he appreciates from a financial standpoint but which he refuses to take seriously, never even popping in to see how the back-to-school sale is coming along, and reportedly shoplifting Sharpies like they’re going out of style. So no, I couldn’t come up with a good metaphor.
I find that my job, yet another in a succession of positions wherein I get yelled at on the phone by poor people, makes me extremely tired. It requires more brain usage than I ideally want in a daily activity. I suppose it’s good to give my increasingly neglected grey matter a sorely needed workout, but I can’t pretend to like it. I’m a lazy man. I accept it. I like lying down and not talking to people for extended periods of time, and my job is kind of exactly the opposite of that. But I don’t come here to complain. The pay is better than what I’m used to, I only take about 30 calls a day compared to 50-60 or more in past jobs, and only about a quarter of the calls are from people who think screaming insults is a good way to resolve matters (turns out they’re absolutely right) or from folks who want to tell you about every bad thing that has ever happened to them in between racking sobs and choking on their own spittle, no doubt flecked with remnants of a healthless and unfilling meal, perhaps even a meal consisting of the corpse of their own child, or poopie. The rest of the time the people who call in want me to do something easy that takes no talent, like process a bill payment or develop a sitcom for CBS, and in such cases I am their man. It could be worse, and I am only slightly disillusioned, a workable enough disposition if you ask me, and a mood that doesn’t expend a lot of energy. It is not a job I take home with me, and I like that about it.
I find that I have been enjoying any time spent with family and friends moreso than usual, and I don’t know what that’s about. It’s not like any of their personalities have markedly improved. I guess as one ages, they start thinking less about video games and boobie-doobies and more about how you’re gonna die pretty soon, and even though most of the time everyone just sits around watching TV and then repeating every dumb joke they heard while engaging in that activity, you should at least try to have a good time with them because they’re all worried about the same stuff you are, so get over yourself and give people a break, because the icy grip of death comes for us all, and you never know who’ll be next, probably either you or someone whose death would ruin your life to the point where it would actually have been preferable for you to have died. So feel no shame in the things you enjoy. There is nothing bad about liking. Agree to disagree, and don’t fuck your children, they don’t like it and it won’t work out for anyone. Also don’t fuck your pets, yuck. I’ve decided this blog entry is now a college graduation speech. I’ve forgotten what those speeches are really called, but don’t comment to tell me what that word is because it will upset me because I’ll see I have a comment and assume it’s someone telling me how funny I am or how firm and sensuous my ass looks in dungarees, and it’ll just be you trying to impress people with how much you know about college.
Anyway, what other advice do I have for imaginary college kids? Actually, I bet I have a lot of things to say to imaginary college kids. If I could have all the college kids’ attention for a few moments, what would I say? College kids: I’ve given up trying to convince the people of the world that cellphones are annoying and shouldn’t be owned or purchased. They are here to stay. I begrudgingly accept this, as well as the fact that they can be convenient in an emergency, like when you’re running around the video store in your pajamas fighting with your girlfriend about which “Saw” sequel to rent, for example. But do you all always have to be talking on them at all times, every second of the day, whenever you’re walking outside, or inside, anywhere, under any circumstances? Wouldn’t any of you like to simply be walking somewhere in silence, enjoying the plaintive call of the white breasted nuthatch, perhaps en route to a room where you may actually talk to a friend with your mouth? Is it important to always be holding a conversation in between sitting in classrooms listening to old people regale you with experience and knowledge that can’t possibly benefit you since it all relates to a time before people had cellphones, and drinking, or perhaps downloading drinks, as I imagine is probably possible at this point, at least I hope so, that’s a good idea? Maybe you’re just a really talkative bunch of kids, what do I know. It’s hard for me to figure, being that small talk has never been one of my more notable skills. Maybe you can all help me to understand this through a mannered yet lively discussion. Let’s start now. Oh wait, I see, you won’t talk to me unless I call you on your cellphone. Never mind, all of you eat shit please now. Yes, eat your cellphones, then shit them out and eat them again, and do this until the end of time. Please begin now. Oh wait, you can’t process this order because I failed to deliver it via cellphone. I keep forgetting. Hold on, stay right here and I will go to Radio Shack and buy a cellphone for the sole purpose of calling everyone in college and instructing them to repeatedly ingest and defecate their cellphones. Can anyone tell me where the nearest Radio Shack is? Isn’t there one in that plaza where the Ames used to be? Well, what store am I thinking of? That’s a Fashion Bug? Why would I mix up Radio Shack with Fashion Bug? Well, do they sell cellphones at Fashion Bug? Well, how do I know, I’ve never been to Fashion Bug! I figure every store in the world must sell cellphones at this stage in the game! I think you can actually buy cellphones at my apartment! That’s a joke, don’t come to my apartment, I don’t really like you guys.
But anyway, happy graduation! And don’t let my disparaging remarks get you down. You’ll probably end up all pleasantly unremarkable like the majority of us old people in a few years or so, and while “pleasantly unremarkable” won’t win you any points for originality, it’s a lot better than “self-absorbed elongated infant”. No, it won’t be an immediate transformation; in fact, believe it or not, you’re going to be even more insufferable from ages 22 to about 27, because your college days of goofing off and general debauchery (tales of which you’ll wildly embellish and exaggerate in bars to visibly unimpressed companions, by the way) will have ill prepared you for the drudgery, loneliness, senseless obstacles, and overall listlessness of the years of bill-paying and grocery-purchasing that await you, and you’ll be very whiny and mopey about this. Also, your friends won’t live down the hall, and you won’t have teachers helpfully telling you what to do. It’s going to make you sad and not very interesting to be around. But then you’ll settle in. You’ll find a groove. You might not need your cellphone so much, although I’m probably jumping the gun on that one. You’ll find someone who can tolerate and even occasionally enjoy sharing a living space with you, and whom you look forward to seeing whenever you’re not busy performing an unexciting service for a millionaire you’ll never meet in exchange for the funding of services that ensure your continued ability to perform an unexciting service for a millionaire you’ll never meet. It’s a safe bet that you’ll play some video games with really good graphics. You may discover late in life that you enjoy gardening, or carpentry, or maybe even your parents. And eventually it’s probable that the very sight of you galumphing down the street won’t fill me with intense disgust.
But listen to me go on! It’s not like your goal in life is to make me happy or anything, although as yet there is no concrete proof that the world is not a mere sociological experiment for my own personal amusement, so you might as well give me twenty dollars to be on the safe side just in case it turns out I’m God. In closing, then, I’d just like to say that in the event that I’m God, I personally guarantee you that anyone who gives me at least twenty dollars will not go to Hell. Seriously, the entrance fee to Heaven is twenty bucks. No questions asked. You’ve heard of a benevolent God, well I’m taking it to the next level. I’m just throwing that out there. I wish the best of luck to all of you, and I would ask that you give me at least fifteen minutes to get to my car and beat the traffic. I forgot to get gas before I came. Thank you.
There, that’s the end of the part of the blog where I pretend to give a speech to college graduates. What else is going on? I think that’s all I got….yup, it’s all I got.