If Heaven was this good, I would convert to Islam and start suicide bombing tomorrow. I have the work ethic of a dead black man. You know that anorexic guy from the movie Se7en who turns out to be Keyser Soze's victim for Sloth? Well, that skeletal sumbitch got more done in a day than me. I always get up early, having made grand plans the night before in which I listed out all the great and prosperous things I'm going to do, only to get side-tracked in the morning by five crudely made pancakes and a Dirty Jobs marathon. Balance my check book? Ah, Iowa Student Loans gives you like two weeks before they regard a payment as "late." Apply for a better job? But where else can I smoke a pack of cigarettes while driving a badly damaged Kubota lawnmower through a gaggle of terrified and tragically slow ducks? No where, that is where! Hey, Eric, how about losing some weight? Well, dick, according to this well-written article I don't have to. But fuck you for suggesting otherwise. For some reason, perhaps genetically, perhaps subconsciously, I lack all motivation to better myself. When I was unemployed-a part of my life I refer to as the Good Part-the only time I stopped playing video games was to watch only the battle scenes from the Lord of the Rings trilogy or masturbate to cosplay porn. My girlfriend would get home from work around six and ask, "Did you apply for any jobs today?" "No," I would tell her. "Even better! I finally completed the Path of the Mentor on Ninja Gaiden 2 and unlocked the secret Black Jaguar costume!" I remember Steph's look of equal parts rage, confusion and depression. "So, are you going to have money to pay your half of the rent this month?" She asked me. "Rent is not important, honey. What is important is this fuckin sick ninja gear I found today. I don't know anyone else who has done this." Well, she didn't even bother to congratulate me...a transgression I have still not forgiven her for. The little victories are what it's all about for me. Getting to the next level of a video game is hardly the same as receiving a MacArthur Genius Grant, but I doubt any of those so-called "geniuses (geni? genies?)" have ever landed a 40-hit freeflow combo whilst playing Batman: Arkham Asylum. Finishing a book always makes me feel like I've done something productive. There, I defeated all those pages, retained most of what I've read, and can now paraphrase the author's ideas to my friends and pass them off as my own. Doing the laundry is also a great way for me to feel like I've accomplished something, because the end results are immediately tangible. It's not like when I worked at Geico and my boss would say, "Good job, Eric. You saved the policyholder seven dollars over a three-year span." That last scenario was an utter work of fiction, as I never helped anyone save money during my brief stint as someone in charge of lots of important and personal information. More likely my boss would hover over my desk to make sure I didn't use any racial slurs or ask female callers if they would like to give me a "Ralph Johnson." But I digress. I enjoy doing the laundry because you can see the results of your work. However, I'll admit that doing the laundry can get a bit dicey at times. Washing and drying is OK, but folding laundry was invented by child molesters as a way of distracting mothers. When I wasn't working I could go days, literally days, without showering. I wouldn't brush my teeth until my tongue felt like it was rubbing against sandpaper. I sat up from nap one day, and could not recall the last time I wore a pair of pants that had a zipper. Everyday just became one long span of apathy, insane PS3 graphics, discovering what foods could be dipped into ricotta cheese, and falling asleep to violent South Korean horror films. I mentioned in a previous entry that I stopped going to church because I could never find a decent parking spot, now I call in sick to work if IFC is playing the director's cut of Bad Lieutenant. I need a jump-start, I think. I need something to jolt me into existence. Something to turn me into an active and contributing member of society. You know what? I'm finally going to register to vote. Yeah. I'm sick of being so apolitical. And you know what else? I am going to join a gym. I'm tired of my eyes disappearing into my face every time I smile. And I'm going to finish that 10,000 piece puzzle of the movie poster to Eat Pray Love. I'm going to get a hair cut. I'm going to trim my beard. I'm going to finally get fucking organized! Starting tomorrow. What's that? Rays play the Red Sox tomorrow? OK, starting Thursday I'm taking my life ba- Jersey Shore? It's all new? Is JWoww and Sammi still fighting? Friday I am going to clean up my act and start living for the future. Oh, shit. Wesley is have that party isn't he. Hawks and Cyclones on Saturday. I never work on Sunday in order to keep holy the Sabbath...Monday! Next Monday begins the start of a new Eric! If I remember...and if I still give a shit.
The Moore You Know: My sister recently announced to the family that she's become a vegan. It took us all by surprise. No one had any idea she liked eating pussy. There is no humble way to say you're a vegan. I'm sure some people thought Gandhi was a self-righteous asshole. You could be in a hospital, dying of cancer, and when the nurse brings in your lunch of Jell-O, a small salad and a turkey sandwich, you have to say, "I can't eat the turkey sandwich." "Are you too ill today?" "No, I-I'm a veg-vegan..." Your a pretentious piece of shit is what you are, and your cancer is a sign from God that he thinks so too.
© Eric Moore - 2010
No comments:
Post a Comment