The great philosopher Socrates said, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” Fortunately, after Socrates said it, Plato wrote it down — otherwise Socrates’ words would have died with him. Socrates was too cheap to buy a pencil!
In our own time, the novelist Saul Bellow gave Socrates’ wisdom a conditional endorsement by adding, “but the examined life makes you wish you were dead.” I can see his point.
I begin the examination of my own life by considering the things in life that I like. Fortunately, I know what I like. My list includes (in no particular order), Coffee, Booze, Cigarettes, Junk Food and Sex. Time was, I’d have ‘Grass’ on that list as well; but as time went on all that paranoia and psychosis got old — punch line to my story is that it’s been thirty years since I’ve gotten baked. I miss it; but not a whole lot.
As you see, I’ve put ‘sex’ on my list. That’s kinda true, but it would be more precise if I replaced that word with ‘pussy’. Sex sounds too clinical. Pussy sounds like what I like.
Trouble is, lots of women act like the the word ‘pussy’ is offensive and misogynistic. That puts me in a bind because, you see: if you like pussy as much as I do, you’ve got to be careful not to piss off the people who actually have a pussy. Are you following my logic?
What do I actually mean when I say I like pussy? I mean that pussy makes me happy. You know how stress reduction gurus are always recommending folks take some quiet time every day to go to their ‘Happy Place’? Charon’s Aide’s Happy Place calls for him to nestle his head snugly between a woman’s legs and kiss her smack on the lips. Are you starting to catch on to the way I feel about pussy?
Now, I’ve done a thorough and careful study of the matter and I’ve determined that 79.6% of women strongly agree with the statement, “I hate my thighs because they’re too fat.” Turns out, I love the thighs that women hate! I appreciate having a comfortable place to work — and if I’ve got a job that needs extra time to finish, I’m grateful to have the pressure taken off my neck.
Bottom line: If women liked their bodies as much as I like their bodies the world would be a much happier place — and if they liked their snatches as much as I like their snatches… Well, put it this way, they’d be damned happy they’re women!
Anyhow, the purpose of this meandering manifesto was simply to explain what I really mean when I put ‘sex’ on my list of things I like. Truthfully, the thing I’m into ought to be called “Vagina Idolatry”. I worship all things vagina.
So, if my previous posts haven’t convinced you that I’ve got “issues” perhaps these latest revelations will help with your diagnosis. Got it worked out, my friend? That’s simply swell because, as it turns out, you can ‘figure me out’ anyway you like, and it’s not going to bother me because I actually like myself, and I like being me.
So, I say I like coffee; but does coffee actually make me happy? Yes, dear readers, coffee really, really makes me happy. It isn’t just drinking coffee that makes me happy. Talking about coffee makes me happy. Buying coffee makes me happy. Hassling the baristas at Starbucks makes me happy. But you know when I like coffee best?
…I’ll give you a minute to figure that one out…
OK, time’s up. I like coffee best when I’m sipping it between puffs of a cigarette. That’s better than the best! And that brings up the next question: “Do I really like smoking, or am I simply hooked on it?”
“Ummmm, yes, I really, really like smoking!!” That’s why I do it. If I’m not smoking a cigarette, I’m fondly remembering the last cigarette I smoked; and if I’m not doing that, I’m eagerly anticipating the next cigarette I’m going to smoke. I like the fact that every time I smoke a cigarette I gratify a desire I created with the last one — and I’m creating a desire for my next one.
It doesn’t matter whether I smoke thirty cigarettes a day, or three a week. I’m chain smoking. It’s the chain that intrigues me!
Next question: “Does alcohol truly make me happy?” Before I address that one I’d like to point out that the reason people ask things like that isn’t because they want to know. The question isn’t a curious question, it’s a leading question. The “right” answer is: “No, I’m not happy. Not really. It’s just that I’m a slave to demon rum.”
Here’s why I’ve avoided being a slave to liquor or to anything else: I’m not ashamed of what I do. I make it my business to rid myself of shame. Back when I was married, my wife used to do things like “tattle” on me and announce my “secrets” to the people we were with. What kind of secrets? Oh you know…
“He’ll eat a whole sleeve of Oreos in one sitting.” “He has a milk shake every day.” “You should see how many onion rings he eats!” “He hardly ever has a salad.”
Does all that eating make me happy? Hell yes! Go ahead and try to shame me. My wife failed for a quarter of a century, and she was an expert at it.
There’s two reasons to do things: You can do them because they make you happy, or you can do them because they make you ashamed.
Did I say that right? Did I say that shame makes you do the very things you’re ashamed of doing?? Yes, my friends, that’s what I said! If you shame the person who eats a whole sleeve of Oreos they’ll stop enjoying cookies and start feeling ashamed — and once you’ve got them ashamed, they’ll eat more than ever. And the more they eat, the more they’ll hate eating; and the more they hate eating, the more ashamed they’ll be; and the more ashamed they are the more they’ll eat.
Yeah — the more they’ll eat, and the more they’ll drink, and the more they’ll smoke, and the more they’ll guzzle coffee and chase broads (if broads are what they’re into).
So, to sum up, your habits are either making you happy or they’re making you miserable. That’s what I learn from “examining my life” and, yes, my life really is worth living — and pussies, booze, smokes, coffee and ‘bad-for-you’ food are the reasons.
So, put that one in your pipe and choke on it!
(Did I sound angry there?)