And I Spilled Gravy On

...i've Spent The Last Fifteen Years Of My Life Railing Against The Game Of Soccer, An Exercise That Has Been Lauded As "the Sport Of The Future" Since 1977. Thankfully, That Future Dystopia Has Never Come.

No Woman Will Ever Satisfy Me. I Know That Now, And I Would Never Try To Deny It. But This Is Actually Okay, Because I Will Never Satisfy A Woman, Either. Should I Be Writing Such Thoughts? Perhaps Not. Perhaps It’s A Bad Idea. I Can Definitely Foresee A Scenario Where That First Paragraph Could Come Back To Haunt Me, Especially If I Somehow Became Marginally Famous.

If You Move Furniture All Day, If You're A Construction Worker, If You Have A Job That's Real Physical, This Idea That There Is A Sport That Involves The Kind Of Conventional, Traditional View Of Toughness, You See That Still As A Positive Thing.

Real People Are Actively Trying To Live Like Fake People, So Real People Are No Less Fake. Every Comparison Becomes Impractical. This Is Why The Impractical Has Become Totally Acceptable; Impracticality Almost Seems Cool.

We’re All Tourists, Sort Of. Life Is Tourism, Sort Of. As Far As I’m Concerned, The Dinosaurs Still Hold The Lease On This Godforsaken Rock.