People Who Should Be Dead

10. Ayn Rand

“But Robot King, she’s already dead!” some of you are no doubt protesting. I don’t care. I want to bring her back to life just so I can watch her die. People are still treating her like she’s relevant, and since there are too many of them to round them all up and drown them in lava, I’m going to suggest the next best thing: sending a message to her fans that “rational self-interest” is pseudo-intellectual speak for “acting like an entitled asshole”. You know what I find most amusing about the people who think that the talented innovators in our society should “go John Galt” and relocate to an exclusive community where they can create and do genius things unencumbered by the rest of us? They always think they’re the first ones who’d be called away to Rapture—er, I mean, called away by John Galt. In all fairness to Ayn, there are times when I don’t know what I’d do without her. She’s such a ripe vein of comedy that even fifty-plus years after the publication of Atlas Shrugged, jokes about her are still funny. As Dorothy Parker quipped, “This is not a book to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force.” This is, of course, nothing compared to Whittaker Chambers, who wrote:

 “The book’s dictatorial tone is much its most striking feature.  Out of an entire lifetime of reading, I can recall no other book in which a tone of overriding arrogance was so implacably sustained.  Its shrillness is without reprieve.  Its dogmatism is without appeal . . .  From almost any page of Atlas Shrugged, a voice can be heard, from painful necessity, commanding: ‘To the gas chamber — go!’”

I really wouldn’t hate her so much if she stopped trying to paint herself as a good person who is simply more enlightened than the rest of us. Face it, Ayn: you’re a sociopath. There’s nothing wrong with that. Well, actually there is, but you know what I mean.

9. Angelina Jolie

She probably seems like an odd choice. I understand. She doesn’t seem like a bad person—in fact, I greatly admire all of her humanitarian work. And she’s not a bad actress either, just one whose movie star persona tends to overshadow her talent. So why do I think she should be dead? Even after all these years, she still won’t get her disgusting, filthy, whorish paws off my future husband.

8. People Who Don’t Like Shakespeare

As an English major, I used to meet a fair amount of people who don’t much care for him. After I punched them in the face repeatedly, I explained that reading Shakespeare is not the way to understand him. He is meant to be performed, not read. Believe me, I’ve acted in a handful of his plays and seen more stage and film adaptations than I can count, but even I find reading him to be a little bit dry. Even so, if you can’t appreciate the eloquence of a good speech from Hamlet without hearing it aloud, something’s wrong with you. He’s Western Civilization’s defining playwright. Give him a chance! Really, I’m just tired of people thinking that he’s only accessible to stuffy academics. That man loved a good dick joke, and whenever I can’t understand something he’s written, I just assume it’s sexual. 99% of the time, I’m right.

7. Rick Santorum

My reasoning on this one is slightly different. I mean, sure, Rick Santorum is a loathsome bigot whose idea of a perfect America is one in which everyone is white, uneducated and so sexually repressed that we’re all humping fence posts just to relieve some tension, but he’s already dropped out of the presidential race, and at this point is likely to just fade into obscurity. That’s exactly the problem. I’m not done with him yet. I want him to die so that everyone will start talking about him again. Yes, I found it satisfying to hear his name become the basis of a million and one nasty double entendres, but that’s not enough. We should set aside an entire week in which we do nothing but marvel that such a douchebag could get so far in the presidential race. That that man is not spat upon everywhere he goes is proof positive that a great many Americans are still living in the 19th century. Get back here, you asswipe. I want to see you literally get fucked in the ass.

6. Ron Paul and His Supporters

But only after they’ve talked for more than five minutes.

5. Scientologists

They’re pretty much the Mormons of our day, in that their origin story is not only ridiculous, but patently false, yet they continue to believe. Jews and Christians at least have the excuse that since their holy stories all supposedly occurred thousands of years ago, it’s impossible to prove or disprove them either way. Scientologists have no such excuse. The religion’s creator made the whole thing up. We have proof. So why does the religion still exist? I’m unclear on this. I liked Tom Cruise a lot more before he was insane. These days, he mostly just runs a lot. Scientology also frustrates me because, unlike Christianity, it isn’t even inspiring. The Gospels, fictional or not, provide a lot of helpful advice on how to live a virtuous life. What does L. Ron Hubbard teach us? That all our problems began with something out of a bad sci-fi novel and that people who practice homosexuality, promiscuity, and BDSM are physically ill. No, really. The sad part is that if this were part of a movie, it would be really great acting.

4. M. Night Shyamalan

I used to defend this man. Yes, I’m one of those people. I loved The Sixth Sense, really liked Unbreakable, and have gone to bat for Signs once or twice, albeit halfheartedly. Hell, I’ll even argue that Lady in the Water is more of an interesting failure than an outright disaster. M. “Night” Shyamalan (not his real middle name, he just thought it sounded cool) is a phenomenally talented director who, early in his career, was compared to both Spielberg and Hitchcock. It wasn’t entirely unwarranted—he could build tension using nothing more than creative camera placement, and had a real gift for coaxing believable and naturalistic performances out of child actors. Had he continued to grow as a filmmaker rather than collapsing under the weight of his own ego, he could have been truly extraordinary. Then came The Happening, a film with the dumbest premise this side of Death Bed: The Bed That Eats. After that, there was The Last Airbender, which not only managed to render its wonderful source material flat and dull, but actively showed contempt for it by making it both racist and sexist. Christ, you’d think an Indian-American would have more sensitivity. I guess Manoj was too busy masturbating to his own cameos.

3. People Who Don’t Support Gay Marriage

Notice that I didn’t write “People Who Oppose Gay Marriage”, because they’re bigots and that’s plain to see. I’m talking about people who are still on the fence about it despite the arguments for and against it not changing in the decade-plus since it’s become an issue. No, President Obama, your views are not “evolving”; you’ve made up your mind already. Now say so so that we can move on. This really needs to stop being an issue. The people who support it are always talking about how “it’ll happen”, so I should just relax. No, I won’t. I’m mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it any more. If you are still “thinking critically” about this one, stop. Just…stop. I’m sick of being told that my rights are anything other than sacrosanct. Man the fuck up and do what you know is right. Yeah, I’m talking to you.

2. David Brooks

On some of the blogs I read, the mere mention of this man’s name is enough to make people foam at the mouth. He’s the quintessential self-righteous moderate: a spineless douchebag who believes that no matter what the facts of the situation are, both sides must be a little bit right and a little bit wrong. I’ve seen him contort himself into some truly elaborate logical pretzels to justify this, and it would be hilarious if there weren’t so many people who take him seriously. I mentioned to my mother that I hate his guts, and she sent me one of his saner articles in an apparent attempt to convince me that not everything he says is nonsense. Yeah, and Pat Robertson supports legalizing marijuana. It doesn’t make him any less of a fucktard. I hate David Brooks with the fire of a thousand suns. If I ever meet him, I’ll drag him off to a soundproof room so that I can yell at him until he concedes that he doesn’t really believe what he says, he just says it because telling other people that they aren’t seeing the full truth gives him a stiffy. Could it be that he’s the one who doesn’t see the full truth? No, that’s ridiculous. That would require an admission that he is human and fallible, but we all know that centrists are just more evolved forms of liberals and conservatives. My favorite column of his was one in which he claims that religion and athletics are incompatible. Wait, what? In it, he refers to Jeremy Lin as unique because he is a Christian and a professional athlete. Um, I don’t watch football, and even I’ve heard of Tim Tebow. Although I prefer this picture of him just because, well, you know.

Tom Brady went to my high school. Just sayin’.

1. Matt Smith

Some of you like him. You need to stop doing so. Do you know why I like the Doctor? He is what he is. No matter what time or place you put him in, he’s basically the same guy. Part of the reason why I think David Tennant is overrated is that you can see him “acting”. He gets the character, sure, but the quality of his performance rises and falls with the scripts, and shouldn’t the Doctor’s individuality reach a little bit deeper than that? Matt Smith is everything that I didn’t like about Tennant increased exponentially. He’s arrogant, smug, insufferably narcissistic, and not half as clever as he thinks he is. Remember when the Doctor was just a scared old man with a TARDIS, stumbling from place to place? Turning him into a superhero who reboots the universe and rewrites history at his convenience isn’t evolution, it’s devolution. Of course, part of the blame for this must lie at the feet of Steven Moffat, who apparently believes that if you just stuff your script full of so many time travel paradoxes that the result should be three hours long rather than one, you’ve got a great Doctor Who script. You don’t. What you have is something so unbearably over-complicated that it’s actually becoming painful for me to keep up with the show. I think Doctor Who should be simple. It’s just a show about an alien and his companion(s) traveling through time and space, after all. It doesn’t have to be Lost. There are some things about which I can agree to disagree with my fellow Whovians. This isn’t one of them. Steven Moffat isn’t a godsend; he’s the worst thing to happen to the series since John Nathan-Turner. At this point, I honestly kind of wish the show would get cancelled. We have fifty years of history. Isn’t that enough?


The Pen

I’ve been waiting for a check to arrive for some time now. My editor asked me to send him an invoice for $1000, and since I didn’t know how to format one, I emailed his administrative assistant. If I read her response correctly, she was going to draw one up for me that I could use as a future template. That was a week and a half ago. I’d really like to get that money now. It’s not just so that I don’t have to ask my father for cash every time I want to buy chapstick. I need to know that someone is being influenced by the work I do. I’ve never been this isolated. I have no steady job and I live in the quietest neighborhood you can possibly imagine. If I want to see a friend, I have to drive for at least an hour just to get back into the area. There are no friends left in my hometown. They’ve all either moved away or moved on.

I don’t want to buy anything too extravagant with my money. There’s a pen down at a local stationary store that I’ve had my eye on for some time. What can I say? I’m fancy that way. I do a lot of writing longhand, and I don’t like cheap notebooks or ballpoint pens than can be bought by the handful at Walgreen’s. This pen is something else. It’s a serious pen, the kind that should be used for signing multimillion-dollar business deals and drawing up a will. I really don’t see why it’s so much to ask that I buy it with my own money rather than charging it to my credit card like I do with just about every other damn thing that I buy. But I need the check from my editor in order to do it. I refuse to pay for it with anyone else’s money.

There are times when I feel like someone is laughing at me. For the past week, my entire day has centered around my mailbox. Every day, I wait eagerly for the mailman to arrive, and when I open the box up to find nothing but bills for my father and junk mail, I am inevitably disappointed. Sometimes I find myself fighting the urge to punch something. What makes it especially painful is that I know the check won’t arrive, but still look forward to the mail. That mailbox has more power over me than an inanimate object has any right to.

Something snapped today. I checked my mail, ran an errand, and as I was returning, almost collapsed right there. I just want to buy that fucking pen. Why can’t I? Yet I doubt the check will arrive tomorrow, or the day after. At this rate, I’ll have left for grad school by the time it gets here. This is not a sustainable way of living. I can’t spend all day waiting for something. The universe is indifferent. It doesn’t care what I do while I wait for the check. It continues to deny me something I desperately want, and I continue to suffer. I wish there were some way I could hit back. This is all I get.

My Internet just went down. When this happened a week or two ago, I got very angry. Someone is testing me, wanting to see if I’ll react as violently as I did last time. I won’t. But I won’t say I’m happy. If there were something seriously wrong with my computer, I’d get it fixed. But my Internet goes down every so often, for no apparent reason, and comes back the instant I’m starting to lose hope. Far too many things work that way.

I keep looking for a way to just push away all of the things that make my life difficult. It never seems to work. No matter how hard I try to do without them, they always find a way to come back and bite me in the ass. It would be nice to assume that my Internet is going to work every time I use my computer, but that can’t happen because someone, somewhere delights in watching me suffer. Nothing I can do has any impact on it. When I asked my dad to look at my computer, the Internet came back right then and there. He didn’t even do anything. Funny how that happens. I can point to countless similar incidents that have occurred over the past few years. I never feel in control. Everything happens to me, as if I’m simply sitting in my room, minding my own business when ninjas break through the window and take away my Internet. I didn’t do anything to them. But they’re ninjas. What do you expect?

I had a roommate last year who was somewhat of a difficult case. She found out she was pregnant shortly after I moved in, and being a single mother with limited funds, began to take out all of her personal problems on me. By the time she was done, she was kicking me out of the apartment for leaving a jar of jelly on the counter while I ate. Just once, I’d like something shitty to happen to me that’s actually my fault. But it never works that way. Everything I do, both good and bad, has no impact on anyone that I can see. This blog rarely gets more than 20 hits per day, about 90% of which come from my Facebook friends who are following the links I post on my profile. I suppose there are worse ways to live. I don’t wish I were pregnant. But I’m pretty sure my former roommate doesn’t wish she were me.

Women Are Better Than Men

I liked this movie. That's all I wanted to say.

I’m through talking about how feminists don’t get my jokes. I find it amusing that while I’m often attacked for my use of the word “pussy” as an insult, no one ever attacks me for my use of the word “dick”. In truth, the origins of the pejorative nature of “pussy” have more to do with cats than female genitalia, but I digress. That’s all behind me now. I got into an argument with a couple of idiots on the comments section of one of my favorite websites yesterday over this, and when I pointed out that “pussy” is no more sexist than “dick”, someone retorted that since vaginas are strong and can spit out humans, he’d rather be called a pussy than a dick. If I’m sexist for calling wimpy men pussies, is this moron admitting that he’d rather be a woman than a man? I wouldn’t. It’s not just because I like being privileged and not having to worry as much about being raped. I enjoy watching sports, making crude jokes, and generally not giving a shit about my attire. I’m generalizing, of course, but what fun is life without a little humor?

There is a general lack of self-awareness among most of the feminists I know. I’m not presenting this as a universal truth that applies to all feminists; I’m just saying that the ones I know tend to react more defensively to my admittedly-un-PC sense of humor than, say, the Jews or Asians I know. I’m a terrible person. My favorite comedians are all the unapologetically envelope-pushing ones—Carlin, Hicks, CK, Chappelle and Rock—but I really don’t wake up in the morning and say, “I think I’ll offend someone today!” I just say what’s on my mind, and people yell at me for it. Comedy cannot function without a hint of self-deprecation. The person making the joke must be aware that not only is what they’re poking fun at ridiculous, they are ridiculous as well, and that life, in general, is ridiculous. Monty Python took shots at everyone because they just didn’t give a shit. The result is comedy than transcends time and place. Many of the Python’s sketches were directed at then-contemporary political figures, but even though nobody remembers those guys anymore, the sketches are still hilarious.

“Not giving a shit” doesn’t mean that you can’t have a point to make. On the contrary, the best comedy is often that that highlights the flaws in certain social or cultural mores. Nobody loves The Onion more than I do. I even own their atlas, Our Dumb World, in which the writers systematically take aim at every single nation in the world. Sweet, appallingly tasteless aim (their Africa section is particularly squirm-inducing.) I’m not enjoying life right now. I’m unemployed, flat broke, single, lonely, and in just over a month, I’m heading off to grad school to rack up tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of debt. Is that funny to you? I think it’s hysterical. I’m so sick of being pitied. I don’t need anyone’s sympathy or even advice. I’ll settle for being amusing. My life is shitty. I might as well have fun with it.

Nothing kills comedy faster than self-righteousness. It interests me that the vast majority of quality political satire is produced by liberals. There don’t seem to be too many good conservative humorists out there. Trey Parker and Matt Stone have written some funny material, but frankly, I think they’re overrated. It isn’t just that much of their “satire” is lazy (Michael Moore is fat and hates America? Wow, thanks!), but that it’s so mean-spirited without ever having much to say. I’ve only watched a handful of episodes of South Park. Even so, the general idea behind that show seems to be, “If it exists, we’ll shit on it. Literally.” The Simpsons, from what I’ve seen (I’m a little behind on my animation education), has a much gentler worldview, one that says, “If it exists, we’ll mock it. Good-naturedly.” Life is short. I really don’t have time to waste on a bunch of overgrown cocky teenagers who think that the proper way to be funny and relevant is to be as crude and anarchic as possible. Some things do matter, guys. Not everyone who tries to do anything is a tool.

I should add that I’ll probably see The Book of Mormon someday. Every person I’ve heard from who’s seen it assures me it’s not only gut-bustingly funny, but surprisingly sweet. Sounds great. I’m not exactly the sentimental type; I just have little use for anything that points out problems but doesn’t offer a solution. It’s part of the reason why I will love Jon Stewart until my dying day. He’s a smarter commentator than most of the so-called “news anchors” out there, yet refreshingly unpretentious. And he still believes in something. There is a lot more to being a comedian than knowing how to act silly. What do you want people to take away from your act? It’s much better that they take away a question than an answer. After all, what is humor for if not to remind everyone how ultimately fucked we all are? Life’s a bitch, then you die. It’s not necessarily so depressing.

My Shitty Life

I’ve whined about my financial situation before, but I don’t think I’ve gone into the proper amount of detail about how much I hate having no money. Think of everything you’ve done today. Now imagine yourself doing those same things, but with no money. You’re eating Cheetos and masturbating, aren’t you? Okay, I think I’ve made my point.

I started reading the Bible not too long ago. I don’t think it’s the word of God; I just think that from a literary, philosophical, theological, and historical perspective, it’s one of the most important texts ever written, so I might as well learn a little about it. So far, it’s not bad. It takes a long time to work through the flowery language (I’m reading the King James version), but the good stuff is very inspiring and, needless to say, completely at odds with what the Christian right seems to believe.

I should talk about something current. Let’s talk about Barack Obama. I like him, don’t you? God knows I don’t approve of everything he does, but I’m pretty sure he means well. Even when he does things that seem wicked, I think he’s doing them out of fear rather than malice. I would not say the same for Mitt Romney (or any Republican, for that matter.) There’s a problem that affects my people (by which I mean, the DFHs of the world) that causes us to distrust anyone who is critical of us. I watched it happen when Christopher Hitchens, one of my heroes, took a controversial and unpredicted stance in favor of the war in Iraq. His defense of said position is far more eloquent and well-reasoned than anything we heard from the Bush Administration and the neocons, but even so, he was demonized by the liberal establishment for daring to disagree with them about anything. To be fair, some of what he said was reprehensible (he called the Dixie Chicks “fucking fat slags” after their lead singer’s notorious comment about Dubya) but that’s it: he went too far. I get very tired of people I respect sullying the name of a great pundit and thinker simply because he challenged one of their core beliefs with the same veracity and fervor that he challenged everyone else’s. No, Glenn Greenwald, Christopher Hitchens was not Ronald Reagan. Not even fucking close.

I used to write for a political magazine. One thing that I promised myself early on was that I would not mince words even if I came under fire for some of my statements. Sure enough, I was sharply criticized by one reader for taking aim at the sex columnists at my school paper. If you haven’t read my school paper, don’t worry. Every college newspaper has one: the oversexed, narcissistic tramp whose sole purpose for existing is to sit on a pedestal, spread her legs, and expect everyone to be amazed that (gasp!) she has a vagina. The reader accused me of being afraid of female sexuality. While I can’t claim to have much affinity for female genitalia, nothing could be further from the truth. It used to be called pornography to expect people to be titillated just by the knowledge that a female has a sex life. Now, it’s empowerment. What are we coming to? I’m not one for slut-shaming, but I have no use for women who think that their sexuality is exciting all by itself. For God’s sake, woman, have some fucking taste. Go out, get boned, and don’t come back until you’ve got something interesting to say.

What I look for in a columnist of any kind is not a desperate need for attention, but the belief that by sharing their own experiences, they might learn more about others’. I’m a regular reader of the New York Times. At first, Gail Collins and Paul Krugman were my favorites, but the more I read Frank Bruni, the more I like him. His politics seem fairly left-leaning to me, but I get the impression that he’d be more conservative if conservatives didn’t hate him. He espouses family values of the sort that are more inclusive than exclusive. Most importantly, he seems like a good person. There aren’t too many opinion writers out there who fit that description.

Broadly speaking, I have little time for anyone who thinks that they know more than I do. Even if you do, I care less about knowledge than curiosity. The great thing about learning is that the more you know, the more you realize how much you don’t know. Shakespeare was brilliant, but he wasn’t better than the theater; the theater is better than him. There are worlds in my head. I need time to draw them out.

I don’t believe that life is too short. I believe that it’s long enough, but only if you don’t let anyone tell you what to do with yours. Unless you are the sort of person who spends his life making others’ miserable, there is no such thing as wasted time. I write fiction as well, and while it isn’t exactly cheerful stuff, it’s rarely despairing. If you can’t make people happy, you might as well enrich them. I’m not interested in pleasing anyone. I want to learn from them, if they will let me share what I know.

Mad Men is one of my favorite shows of the moment. Part of the fun for me is debating which character is the worst human being. Joan is a ruthless, evil bitch, but Roger is pretty damn selfish. Pete, for me, is not immoral so much as completely lacking in empathy. He may seem like a sociopath, except that he experiences human emotions but has no idea what they mean.

There might be writers who write because they want to make other people happy, but I make no such claim. I do this because I want to sleep at night. I wish there were a Sonic Screwdriver I could point at this problem to rectify it (Ha! You thought I couldn’t work a Doctor Who reference into this one!) but this is the sort of thing that takes time and experimentation to resolve. (On another note, I wish they’d just rename that thing the Lazy Screenwriting Device.) In the meantime, I have books to read, worlds to save, and languages to learn.

Killing Hope

My life would be so much easier if I never got my hopes up. I’ve been trying to get paid for my freelance journalism work for close to a month now. After pestering my editor (who is busy with other projects), he told me to send him an invoice. Since I didn’t know how to do that, I contacted his administrative assistant. She sent me a tax form. It’s been almost a week since I’ve contacted her, and still, I haven’t received a template for my invoice, let alone an actual check. And it’s been over a month since I took this job.

I hate being dependent on my father. Yesterday, I walked down the street to buy a new iPod. I had to pay for it with my credit card, for which my father foots the bill. Just once, I’d like to buy something with my own money. I didn’t choose to move back in after failing to make ends meet on my own. I’d really like to choose something.

There are times when I grow frightened of what I’ll do if pushed too far. Earlier this week, I smashed up a box of old knickknacks with a hammer just because my Internet wasn’t working. When your entire day consists of sitting around and staring at the wall, little things like that can get to you.

I’m tired of allowing myself to hope. Every time I do, I’m disappointed. What kills me is that I know I’ll be disappointed, but I can’t stop myself from hoping. The only thing that nothing seems able to kill is my faith. I’m not religious, I just believe that people who hold out long enough and give everything they have to give might find what they’re looking for. Since there is no way to disprove that, I guess I’m stuck with it for life. People go on with their lives without making room for me. It’s all I can do to take control in the only way I know.

It’s a pretty rare thing that I have a falling out with my friends. More often than not, they decide that they don’t need me in their life anymore and stop returning my phone calls. Just like that, they cut me out of their lives without even thinking about it. But I have to believe that some part of them knows that what they’re doing is wrong. No matter how cavalierly they do it, they’re still abandoning a great friend out of sheer laziness. That has to leave an empty space. I hope it gnaws away at them. I hope it makes them miserable. And saying that doesn’t make me happy, but it’s all I get.

I don’t need a shoulder to cry on. I don’t need anyone’s pity. All I want is respect and the knowledge that when I say something, people consider it rather than shaking their heads and dismissing it as just one more of my childish fantasies. When I complain about my inability to find a date, I don’t want to hear people say, “You’ll find someone.” That’s useless. It’s the sort of thing that people who have already gotten over the hump say because they’re too fucking stupid to remember what it was like for them once. Don’t take away my ability to joke about something. Bitching and moaning about my nonexistent love life isn’t a cry for help; it’s supposed to be funny. The first guy I ever kissed turned into a stalker. On some level, that’s sad. On another, it’s fucking hilarious.

Whenever I try to make something happen, it doesn’t. About seven months ago, I took an interest in a guy who was attractive, personable, and knew some of the same people that I did. After at least half an hour of getting pumped, I worked up the courage to strike up a conversation with him at the gym. We chatted, shook hands, and parted ways. In retrospect, I don’t think he was gay, just metrosexual. Oh well. It gave me something to masturbate to.

My life is shitty. I spend most of my time pining away for the unattainable, and when I don’t get it, I somehow still feel let down. I’m actually starting to enjoy the pain. Sure, I may never marry Brad Pitt or change the world, but at least I can blog about how much I hate everyone who doesn’t give me what I want (which is to say, almost everyone.) I almost never get what I want. Whenever I do, I try to remember the date, because it means that nothing good will happen to me for at least another six months. Some people seem to have most of what they want. Maybe that’s just because they want so little. I want to rule the world. Dream big, right?

I’m not expecting anything to change as a result of writing this. I just wanted the (zero?) people who read it to know that I’m better than you. You’re probably alright, but seriously, I’m amazing. Also, I believe that the best way to sleep at night is to empty one’s brain of all unwanted clutter. I’m working on it. It’s one of the few things I have any authority over, so I might as well get on it. Until then, let it be said that until something changes, I expect everyone in the world to try to screw me over at every opportunity. I expect the Earth to crash into the sun before I’m 30, and even if it doesn’t, I’ll probably die of cancer before then. With that in mind, there’s nowhere to go but up.