I’ve Never Felt More Alive Than When I Embrace I'm Dying

I never realized how fucking ancient I’ve become, considering I never expected to make it to 25 and questioned my perceived continued existence well into my 30s. I still do much the same kinds of shit I did in my 20s, but I just don’t do it around people anymore. I’ve finally completely given up on people. Turnabout, it appears, really does involve fair play.

I chose Dec 7, 1941 as my birth date because I feel strongly that I am the progeny of Pearl Harbor. My consciousness is totally informed and shaped by one of those dates Americans like to say “changed everything,” when, in fact, nothing ever changes. 

It’s always the same old shit, over and over, only the names of those I am shocked to discover have the reasoning capacity of a half gallon plastic jug of semi-soft feces has occasionally changed. In the end, I suspect, everyone in our nations of miserable fucks eventually becomes a blithering bigoted asshole only fit for cremation by means of being launched at the sun aboard a commercial space craft searching for The Space Force.

So if you ever get curious about how out of place you are in the statistical scheme of things, you may want to head over to Population.io by World Data Lab. The Data Lab was produced by breeding a Chocolate Lab with genetically modified Venti Caramel Ribbon Crunch Frappuccino/Data Reduction Quark cross.

Why would I kid about something as important as this?