First of all, let’s dispel that notion. You know, the one that’s in your mind right now which is preventing you from being truly you. Yeah, that one. Dispel it. Right now. Good. Okay. We’re doing this. And another thing, we only have one shot at this life thing. (Unless you believe in reincarnation, but even if you do you need to make sure you don’t fuck this life up, lest you end up being one of those fucky-flat-cockroachy-things that live under rocks in the next life…and there’s really no going back from that, because how do you live a life under a rock as a fucky-flat-cockroachy-thing in a way that will lead to you being reborn as Sting or the Queen of England, or anything else that doesn’t resemble a fucky-flat-cockroach?) So take the shot. Or don’t. Save your bullets. For the apocalypse. Or use them for jewelry or something, but yes, use them, before some damn Commi takes them from you. Because it’s your God-given right to have bullets. Literally. It’s written somewhere in the Bible. Well, it’s written in my Bible. In the margins. In pencil. In my dad’s handwriting. Next to a crooked looking smiley face, it says: “Thus God spaketh to the world below: YOU CAN HAVE BULLETS! AND MAKE JEWELRY WITH THEM! THAT IS MY RIGHT GIVEN TO YOU! EXCEPT FOR YOU, YOU FUCKY-FLAT-COCKROACHY-THINGS, BECAUSE WHAT’S YOUR DEAL?”
So whenever you’re feeling like things aren’t going particularly well, return to this blog-post and bathe in its wisdom.
And remember, we’re in this together! (Quite literally, if you’re me, which I hope you aren’t, because, as stated in the title of this profound diatribe, there can be only one me.*)
*If you are me, would you please remember to clip your toenails once and awhile. They are reaching epic, Hobbit-like proportions.