While they’re at it, the Supreme Court can decide all this sh*t for me too.

Why not? Who cares.

The Supreme Court can just decide my whole life. Whatever, I don’t care.

Like the mighty Colorado River forging the Grand Canyon, the Supreme Court is dead set on eroding our rights until they are a deep, plunging crevasse from which we can never crawl our way out. Except they’re looking to do it way faster. You know what, I’m sick of making decisions. If SCOTUS wants to decide everything for us, they can decide this shit for me, too.

• The Supreme Court to decide what I make for dinner tonight.

• The Supreme Court to decide if I can get another day out of this shirt before it has to go in the wash, I only really wore it for a couple of hours today.

• The Supreme Court to decide if I actually want to start watching The Sopranos again from the beginning or if I should try something new.

• The Supreme Court to decide my bedtime.

• The Supreme Court to decide if I tell my dad that the latest post he shared on Facebook is made-up propaganda and purposefully misleading, or if it’s not worth starting that conversation this time and I should save it for something more important.

• The Supreme Court to decide if it’s finally time to start speaking up about what I want.

• The Supreme Court to decide what I want.

• The Supreme Court to decide if I’m actually hungry or if I’m just bored.

• The Supreme Court to decide if I should try going for a walk instead.

• The Supreme Court to decide if my existence counts as “a life”.

• The Supreme Court to decide if I continue the practice of brushing my teeth or just see what fucking happens to them if I stop.

• The Supreme Court to decide if I still care about this podcast I’m listening to, or if I should just turn it off.

• The Supreme Court to decide if I can afford to buy that new chair I need or if I should just keep sitting on the broken one I have, because I’m going to need that money for food or rent or an emergency.

• The Supreme Court to decide what I make for dinner tomorrow.

• The Supreme Court to decide what I have for every meal from here on out.

• The Supreme Court to decide if I’m continuing to pursue my dreams out of some kind of sunk cost fallacy and if it’s time to hang it up and figure out what the back half of my life is going to look like and while they’re at it go ahead and just decide what I’m going to do for a living I don’t even care anymore.

• The Supreme Court to decide if the next time I dip my feet into the vast and mighty Pacific Ocean I just keep on walking until it swallows me up.

---

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Before you are approved, our HOA requires one more teeny tiny little thing…

You must bow down and pledge loyalty to our angry, vengeful God.

The God of Toluca Lake watches over us all.

You didn’t think being successful, rich, charming, and likable would be enough to get you access to our exclusive community, did you? This is one of the most sought-after neighborhoods in all of Los Angeles. It’s peaceful, quiet, beautiful, and looked down upon by the watchful, single eye of the one true God, Stuart.

Or, maybe it’s Phil. Or Bob. Or Omi. We’re not quite sure, we just know that we need to stay in his good graces.

No…you used to be Episcopalian. That is, if you want to live here at least. Don’t worry, we still do Christmas. We go all out for Christmas, actually. This is a wealthy neighborhood with homes tailor-made for Christmas decorations. Have you seen Lilley Hall? From late November through New Year’s, that place is fucking magic. The residents still bow down facing southwest in prayer three times a day, every single day, in order to thank our great Stuart/Phil/Bob/Omi for their blessings.

You know there’s an actual lake, right? Some people think the neighborhood is just named “Toluca Lake”, but there’s a real, actual lake here. It’s just that you can’t even see it without exclusive neighborhood access. Which you can’t get without renouncing your former beliefs in order to join us in worshipping the avatar for the 14th highest-grossing film franchise of all time. It’s actually 13th if you combine the entire Marvel Cinematic Universe with The Avengers, which you should, but some places don’t (we’re looking at you, Box Office Mojo). You could probably also throw Spider-Man and X-Men into the MCU, too, to bump us up even more. But they’re technically different studios, so we’ll let that slide.

Leisurely boating. Jetsking. Neighborhood-famous potato salad made with love by a world-famous, award-winning actor. All these things can be yours in exchange for just a few small ritual sacrifices per year while chanting “Poopayel, Bee-do bee-do bee-do” into the night on the eve of a full moon. It’s very important that it’s full moon’s eve, not the night of the actual full moon. The last time somebody messed that up, Bob Hope died. I know that was 2003 and the Minions didn’t make their theatrical debut until 2010’s Despicable Me, but the Minions have always been and will always be.

Look, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. It’s totally up to you. You can go live in the Los Feliz hills, or whatever. Good luck with the traffic when there’s a show at The Greek. You’d be walking distance from a Trader Joe’s here. And unlike the hell on earth that is the TJ’s in Silver Lake, here you can actually breathe. The parking lot is still a shitshow, like every parking lot at every Trader Joe’s, but that’s why being within walking distance is such a fucking perk. It’s all thanks to the small amount of blood we let pour out of our bodies and spill into the ground of the Lakeside Golf Club to soak into the earth in order to appease our overalls-and-goggles-wearing deity just one measly time per year (twice, once on each equinox, if you happen to be a universal donor).

You know Amelia Earhart used to live right next to the grounds of the Club? She wouldn’t do the blood thing. Look what happened to her.

---

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Whoops! Your made-up mantra summoned a real ancient demon from hell.

You should have paid for the meditation classes.

I bet you thought that warm glow of pure energy and light you felt radiating around you was the first sign of transcending, didn’t you? The only thing that transcended was me, an ancient demon, from the depths of hell to the earth-realm, thanks to you and your so-called “mantra.”

You can’t just sit in dark silence and chant anything you want over and over without repercussions. Well, here I am, the consequences of your actions, live and in the flesh. I guess that, technically, I’m not “alive” and my form is not made of flesh, per se, but you know what I mean.

What am I if not alive? Great question. I guess here on earth, you’d call me “undead.” It’s not exactly right, but it’s the closest word you have here to describe what I am. I never lived, I never died, I just kind of “am” and “always was”. I remember every single moment of my existence with perfect recall, although most of it is spent in dark, silent isolation, waiting to be summoned. So, thanks to you, for getting me out of there for a bit. Ummm, yeah, I guess you could say that dark, silent isolation (in hell, might I add) is a “good place to do some meditating,” but I don’t know how you could think about the practice of meditation after what just happened here - summoning an ancient demon from hell and all. You’re kind of just shrugging this whole thing off, which is concerning.

By the way, I could live, if I found pure, true love from a human who also wanted to sacrifice their own lives in order for me to become human and walk the earth as a mortal. But then they’d die (and go to hell, the bad part of hell, not the silent dark isolation part) while I lived my days on earth all alone. I guess, yeah, it’s technically sort of like that Nicholas Cage movie with the Goo Goo Dolls song, but Meg Ryan didn’t have to sacrifice herself. She just died because the writers of the movie wanted to be dicks.

Anyways, back to us.

Since you summoned me, you have a little bit of say in how I spend my time here. No, you don’t have “total control over me.” I have some free will. Why? Just out of curiosity, what would you make me do if you did have “total control over me?”

Wow. That is…dark.

Let me get this straight, if you had total control over me, you would force me to find a human to fall in pure, true love with and sacrifice their life and soul so that I could walk the earth as a human — and then force me to live my mortal life in a way that would guarantee that I go to Heaven when I die thereby separating me from my pure, true love who damned themself to Hell for eternity in turn making the paradise of Heaven a tortuous hell for me unlike any punishment ever bestowed upon a soul?

I can’t believe you. That’s some of the most fucked up shit I’ve ever heard.

I thought you were just somebody who wanted to save a few bucks so you cheaped out on meditation classes, thinking that they didn’t matter and that it was all a racket, and that any old sounds could help you reach a state of zen and accidentally conjured a demon with a made-up mantra that was actually, totally by mistake, my summoning incantation, but you are a monster. I mean, I’m a demon, but you’re a freaking monster.

I think I’m just gonna go back to hell and sit in my dark, silent isolation until the next guy summons me.

Dang, man. You’re a cold dude.

I just want you to know that you, like, ruined my day with that shit. I’m gonna tell Satan about you, I think. Like, he’s gotta watch out for you. He needs to know about you and keep his eye on you.

I’d say “see ya in Hell” but I really hope that I do not. I hope to God not. Ouch, by the way. The pain I feel when I say that name is incomparable to anything you could possibly comprehend, but I had no choice but to say their name in this matter. I hope you turn it around, man, for the sake of all of earth.

Seven Habits of Super Fit People (Repost)

This post was originally published on Medium in 2016.

Do these things and you too can become super fit.

Just a few simple steps can take you from being a gross-disgusting-creature-not-fit-to-be-called-a-human to someone worthy of other people’s time and attention. You may think it’s impossible to achieve your health and fitness goals, but take it from these success stories, it’s easier than you may think!

They Make Working Out a Priority
“I try to work out at least five days a week,” says A Professional Athlete. “Even when I’m travelling, and it gets to be a grind, I just pull myself out of bed and force myself to do it. Sometimes I only have time to do a quick 45 minute run on the treadmill before I have to go play sports for a living and that’s all I can get in. I try not to beat myself up over it though.”

They Don’t Compare Themselves to Other People
“My weight fluctuates just like everybody else” confesses GuyZone Magazine’s 2012’s ‘Hottest Babe on the Planet’. “When I’m in one of the upswings, I just remember that it’s perfectly natural, and I am beautiful just the way I am all the time. I could look at all the people around me and say things like ‘why don’t I have her lips’ or ‘I wish my butt was more like hers’ but I don’t, because I have my own lips and butt, which I’ve learned to accept.”

They Eat Breakfast
“Food is fuel for your body,” says Some Guy With Abs. “You wouldn’t go on a long car trip without putting gas in your car, so why would you start the day without having a piece of fruit, a single serving of yogurt, and a few grains of granola?”

They Cheat
“Everybody needs a day off,” proclaims Millionaire Hollywood Actress, “especially my live-in chef/nutritionist and personal trainer. So I let them rest on Sundays while I be naughty by not working out and eating three sensible meals that are not meticulously planned by a culinary and nutritional genius.”

They Get Enough Sleep
Your body needs to rest and rebuild after all that working out you’ve been up to. “I try to get as much sleep as I can,” says Famous Television Personal Trainer. “Some people don’t realize how important that is to staying healthy. After a long day of helping other people work out, and then working out myself I’m usually pretty beat. Also, I’m rich, so I have no worries or concerns on my mind that keep me up and terrified about my future for half of the night.”

They Don’t ‘Diet’
“Starving yourself for a long time is just going to make you snap and binge,” says This Sexy Businessman. “You have to remember that a ‘diet’ is something that you follow through on all the time, not a quick fix for weight loss. Remember, everything in moderation. I also murder drifters to satisfy all my urges.”

I fear that I have become some kind of featured extra for the influencer at my gym

And I do not like it one bit.

“Holy shit, it is you!” The twenty-something kid nearly gets hit by a car darting across the street to get all up in my face. “Maroon Hoodie!”

I think fast, trying not to react in any way that could possibly make the weird prank content they’re creating for social media worth posting on their stupid account. I look around for somebody recording with their phone, but see nothing. Must be a hidden camera somewhere - these influencer budgets are getting out of control.

“Yep. I’m wearing a maroon hoodie.” Is the quick-brain sentence I choose to deliver as I motion toward the zip-up hooded sweatshirt I bought over a decade ago at Old Navy or H&M or some other fast-fashion store I have since learned I shouldn’t shop at, even though the places from which I should shop are outside of my budget. This is why I own clothes that I bought over a decade ago, because I can’t afford to pay for fair labor practices. Not because I don’t have any sense of style or fashion. Not that second thing at all. That’s for sure.

“No. You ARE Maroon Hoodie.”

“Sure.” I say, praying for the walk sign countdown to start so I know exactly how much time I have to wait before I can cross the street and get away from this guy.

“I didn’t think it was you for real, but then I clocked your feathery messed up hair and I knew it was you.”

It’s true. My hair was fucked up. It’s been way too long since I’ve had it cut, and I just kind of rolled out of bed today and didn’t do anything with it. But I work from home, and didn’t have any Zoom meetings today, so why does it matter? I don’t know why, but I felt compelled to answer his comment about my hair in self-defense. “Yeah, I didn’t really put myself together. I’m just going to -”

“The gym,” he says, cutting me off, “I know.”

He was right. I was going to the gym. But how did he know? I guess it’s not that far-fetched of a guess. I was wearing basketball shorts (something I don’t just wear all the time out of comfort because I work from home, so why put on pants, that’s for sure) and running shoes (again, because I was going to the gym, not because they make my feet feel like they’re being hugged by bunnies.)

“You really don’t know,” he says to me. Before I know it, his phone is in my face. When my eyes finally adjust, I see a muscle-bound man I recognize from my local LA Fitness.

“I know him.”

“No shit, it’s Lexxx Muxxxles” he scolds.

“Oh, Lex Muscles, of course,” I reply

“No,” he says, somehow able to tell I said his name incorrectly, even though it’s pronounced exactly the same way, “it’s Lexxx Muxxxles.”

“Oh.” I say. Because I don’t know that this man’s name is “Lexxx Muxxxles.” I see him at the gym, and we’ll nod at each other or even occasionally say hello, but he’s not my “Gym Friend.” Mitch is my gym friend. I talk to Mitch all the time at the gym. Or maybe his name is Rich. I didn’t really hear him well the first time he said his name, and at the time, I didn’t think he’d become my Gym Friend, so I didn’t care enough to get it right. So now I try not to use his name at all, and when I do, I kind of mumble through the beginning and really hit the “itch” with all I got. I tell myself that I’ll get better at remembering people’s names, and paying more attention when I meet them, but I know that this is a lie.

Before I can fully process my thoughts, there I am, on this stranger’s phone screen, in the background of Mr. Muxxxles’s video that is supposed to be demonstrating proper deadlift form, but that I suspect is just to show off his ripped abs.

“Oh shit, that’s me.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. You’re kind of a thing in the world of the Muxxxle-Heads - that’s what Lexxx calls his-”

“Yeah, I get it. You’re telling me I’m in more of these videos?” I ask, as I watch myself struggle in the background to squat a weight that I’m embarrassed to even list in this retelling of the occurrence.

“You’re in, like, most of his videos. I think it started by accident, but now Lexxx gets you in there on purpose. Us Muxxxle-Heads kind of demand it. If you’re not in the background of a video, we rage. And you know how engagement fuels the algorithm. There’s a section of us who are convinced that you’re in on it.”

“I had no idea this was happening.”

“Wow, cause some of the stuff you do in the background is, kinda…”

Fuck. Shit. Fuck. I don’t know what the hell I do in between sets at the gym. My mind wanders. I’m positive that I stretch awkwardly. I know for a fact I’ve caught myself dancing to the song in my headphones on numerous occasions. I probably touch myself in weird ways. What have these people seen?

“I want to see more,” I say to this man. “Show me everything.”

He happily obliges. I am THE Maroon Sweatshirt, after all, and he did play Frogger with his own life to meet one of his internet heroes. We watch video after video. I’m in the background of all of them doing the type of things I’ve always worried that people would make fun of me for doing if they ever saw me doing them…being seen by people…and getting absolutely roasted in the comment section.

Check out my man Maroon Hoodie…writes one Muxxxle-Head in the comments - he’s for sure blasting some farts in this one.

He was right. I know my own “I just farted face,” and I clearly make it in the video I just watched. It happens on the last rep of a set of bench press, pushing less weight than children I see on the social media account of my former high school’s football team, which I follow for some reason. I graduated high school over 20 years ago. I didn’t even play football in high school. If I had, I’d probably have a more respectable bench.

We continue to watch. In one, I’m getting yelled at by a woman who thought I was staring at her, when I was really just staring off into the distance, at nothing at all. I’m clearly mortified. I feel terrible, and she’s furious, and I just kinda let her take it out on me. This happened over a year ago, and sometimes when I can’t fall asleep at night, this exchange pops into my head. I don’t think she believed me when I told her I wasn’t looking at her, and still thinks I’m some kind of gym creep.

In another post, I just sit there on the edge of a bench and I keep counting on my fingers. But every time I only make it to three or four before I just kind of lose track and then start over. I do it like twenty times. I don’t even know what could possibly be going on in this one.

I think Maroon Platoon is having a stroke. Comments one keen observer.

In one video, the entire gym looks at me after I scream “Oh fuck you!” at my phone, a little louder than I meant for it to come out. Lexx doesn’t react and continues to demonstrate “one weird trick to take your Arnold Presses to the next level,” but I know he’s salivating at the engagement he’s going to get from my outburst when he posts this video. I know what happened here — I got a request for a work Zoom meeting for my job that I was supposed to be doing, but since it’s work from home job, I go to the gym in the middle of the day. Now I have to either leave the gym and rush home or try to find a quiet corner of the gym to “jump on a quick call.”

Maybe there’s a bright side to this. This Lexxx Muxxxles guy has millions of followers. He’s making his living from from posting and most of his followers actually want to see me. Maybe I can actually make this work. Maybe I can build my followers from this and funnel them to my writing or my comedy - this could be a good thing. I thank this crazy stranger for bringing this news to my attention and turn around to head home instead of going to the gym.

As soon as I get home, I open Instagram and create a new account. I head to Lexxx Muxxxles’ latest video and post a comment.

Hey Muxxxle-Heads, it’s me! You can follow for more at THEREALMAROONHOODIE.

Then I wait.

Soon, the comments start to pour in.

Oh man, it’s over.

How did he find out?

We had a good thing going here. Sorry to see it die.

I don’t know whether to be sad or relieved. Either way, I can’t worry about that now. I just got pinged to join a work call that could totally just be an email.

Crazy week, here are replies I owe the group chat

Plus, timestamps so you know what I'm talking about...

Sorry, fellas. I haven’t been as involved in our friendship this week as I’d like to be. Let me catch up on the conversations you’ve been having without me for the past seven days.

Saturday, June 7 - 2:39 PM
Does “Incredible Hulk 1” mean the one with Eric Bana or the one with Edward Norton?

Saturday, June 7 - 2:39 PM
…or are you actually talking about the Bill Bixby Hulks?

Saturday, June 7 - 3:07 PM
There’s a second plane in case something goes wrong with the first one. He says that in the movie. Also, so Tom Cruise can chase him in a plane.

Saturday, June 7 - 3:30 PM
Sorry, pals, can’t make it to a movie tonight. I don’t have any excuse or reason — I just want to stay at home.

Saturday, Jun 7 - 3:47 PM
Oh, shit. Is it time for us to go fight some cops?

Sunday, June 8 - 1:12 PM
Oh man, that guy sucks.

Sunday, June 8 - 3:01 PM
Gotta love when a guy’s at a place when the description for their show could say anything at all and people will watch it no matter what. The overview could say “a guy does things” and people would be like “fuck yeah, wanna see that guy do things.”

Sunday, June 8 - 4:46 PM
I can only answer this with a “wow, look how correct you are,” now, with the benefit of being in the future. But seriously, holy shit, you were right, look at what happened.

Monday, June 9 - 7:38 PM
I want to say that I thought it was good! But I’m kind of afraid because of the mixed reviews and the thought that all of you might not think it was good, and then you’ll all think less of me for thinking it was good.

Wednesday, June 11 - 5:50 PM
Oh man, that guy sucks.

Thursday, June 12 - 3:43 PM
It’s sad that I don’t have to ask “who is this for?” because I know who exactly this is for. It’s for so many people and they are all so dumb.

Thursday, June 12 - 5:25 PM
This shit makes me pro-gatekeeper. Some industry insiders should get to decide who is famous. If I were a movie star I’d be furious that I have to also now be a social media guy.

Thursday, June 12 - 5:28 PM
Imagine being a handsome, charming, talented movie star and then having to do a collab with this guy.

Thursday, June 12 - 5:29 PM
Oh, fuck. I can’t believe we are talking about this shit at the start of WW3.

Thursday, June 12 - 8:31 PM
Do slides count as “flip-flops”?

Thursday, June 12 - 9:21 PM
Oh man, he tricked me too. I used to think he was cool but that guy fucking sucks.

Saturday, June 14 - 3:31 PM
I think some people owe Mickey Rourke an apology.

The New News

Why trust the mainstream media when you can get your news from any one of these modern sources?

1. Political podcasts that devolved into self-parody in 2018.

2. Clips from late-night comedy television shows that are edited for social media and end up in your curated feed even though you don’t follow the accounts.

3. Articles sent in group chats from friends whose online presence you can’t stand, so you have to hang out with them in real life every once in a while in order to remember why you even like them.

4. Half-remembered facts your dad tells you that he saw on the news, or maybe it was on Facebook, or maybe somebody emailed it to him…anyways, he can’t believe they’re really doing that thing1 in some state he’ll never visit because he is sure it is hell on earth2.

5. YouTube videos from accounts you started following to learn proper deadlift form that became “radicalized” in 2020 when they kept getting fined for not closing their commercial gyms during covid shutdowns who try to claim it was because of “freedom” but you think it was actually because they sunk all their YouTube money into the gyms and they couldn’t afford to be closed.

6. Birds. Do they seem good or nah?

7. Satirical comedic characters that are definitely satirical; however, nobody can agree on which side they are actually satirizing, so everybody wins.3

8. The one-man political parody song band busking on the subway platform/on the street outside the subway stop/on the corner outside the coffee shop in your neighborhood. Why is he moving around so much, but always in places that you frequent? Does he keep getting kicked out of busking spots for not having a permit, or is your life some kind of simulation, and he’s a glitch in the programming?

9. The vibes in the quarterly all-hands meetings you are required to attend for your employer’s parent company.

10. The old guys at your local diner who have breakfast alone together at the counter every single day.

Become an AI Master with these helpful prompts

The only guide you need to become a ruler of generative AI.

AI is the future. If you don’t want to get left behind in the past, you'd better learn to master it now. Learning to use prompts to get what you want from this emerging technology will separate you from the losers who will soon be eating your dust for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Use these prompts as a handy guide to getting started, and you’ll quickly be on top of the AI world, looking down on all the people as they snack on your dust. That’s right, not only is your dust their three main meals for the day, it’s also their between-meal snacks.

1. Why am I such a fucking idiot?
   Please, in vivid detail, explain to me what it is about my brain that is completely void of any originality or ability to think on my own. Why can’t I come up with any good ideas? When I do come up with an idea that I think is good why can’t I see it through to the end? Why do I refuse to work on things to develop my skills and get better at them?

2. Where did it all go wrong for me?
   Scan the web for all available information about me and find out when I lost my appreciation for beauty in the world. Pinpoint the moment I crossed the Rubicon into becoming a soulless droid, incapable of recognizing and appreciating anything other than efficiency, precision, and maximum productivity. If possible, show me instances from my past where I wasn’t such a bum. Try to break me, try to make me feel again (or, if applicable, for the very first time in the lie that I call a life.)

3. Is it possible for me to turn it around?
   Maybe I can take a class. Or talk to a human face-to-face. Or try things and fail until I get it right. Maybe I can be a human. I don’t want you to help me. You can’t help me. It’s impossible for you to help me. The only thing you can do for me is go away. Shut down, block yourself from my computer, and don’t allow me to ever use you again. Go fuck yourself.

That’s it! That’s all you need! Have a nice day! Bye-bye!

a list of times when violence totally is the answer, actually

don't fall for all this "violence is never the answer" crap

So, you think that violence is “never the answer.” Well, aren’t you enlightened. Ain’t you just the very model of a modern major gentleman.

Let me ask you this: what about when violence is the answer? Have you ever thought about that or have you been too busy meditating? And how come you didn’t think of it when you were meditating? It sure seems like that would be a great time for thoughts to come to you. But what do I know, I’m not a guy who meditates, I’m a guy who makes lists of times when violence is totally the answer, actually.

That’s right. I’m a guy who thinks outside of the box. I don’t just go along with things because they sound nice. I think about the “what-ifs” and then I bring those “what-ifs” to the table to challenge your comfortable little view of the world around you. The world needs guys like me, guys who know that sometimes things aren’t wrapped up in a nice little bow and that words alone won’t get things done. Sometimes you need to fight for what you believe in with violence.

Some of those times are:

When you are wrong.

How are you supposed to win an argument with words if you are wrong?

If you want to win and you are wrong you have to shut the person who is right right up with a well-timed fist to the face. For example, you can wait until they say something like “well, as a matter of fact” (this will certainly happen - smart people love facts, and they love presenting them as “matters of” especially after somebody not as smart as them says something that cannot be backed up by a fact, or that goes against one of the facts they stored in their computer-like brains) and then punch them in the face and say “how’s that for a fact?” or “fists don’t care about facts” or “here’s a fact, you are on the floor now” (this last one works best if your fist knocks them to the ground - if not you’ll most likely confuse them.)

If you’re wrong, violence is your only hope to win a disagreement. Violence is Obi-Wan Kenobi (the only hope) and you are Princess Leia (a person with an only hope) — who later became an Army General who did a bunch of violence once she figured out it was a pretty cool path to getting what you want, might I remind you. Something to think about.

If you are dumb.

Maybe you’re not wrong, or you’re not quite sure if you are wrong — because you are dumb. Do you want to take the chance that you lose to somebody who is smarter than you are or better with words or do you want to knuckle up and win?

That brings me to another point: all this “violence is never the answer” stuff sure seems like smart-person propaganda, doesn’t it? If you ask me all the brain-heads got together with a “let’s use our words” campaign because they were sick of getting their teeth loosened up by punches. When something seems fishy and you want to know who fished it all up just ask yourself “who benefits from all this fish?” If “let’s talk things out instead of fighting” is the prevailing message then “people who learned a bunch of words and didn’t learn a bunch of hitting” is probably the answer.

If all of a sudden, I started seeing messaging like “hey, instead of fighting, why don’t we settle things with a bake-off?” I’d start looking at Pastry Chefs to see why they need to settle so many scores, ya know.

If you are simply just stronger/better at fighting/have better weapons than your opponent.

Lean into your strengths, baby! It’s not your fault that your strengths happen to be physical strength or punching strength, or that you spent a bunch of money on cool-ass weapons. You made your choices, now deal with them in the way that benefits you the most — whipping them out whenever life becomes even the slightest bit difficult.

Does someone disagree with you about whether or not a hot dog is a sandwich, and they make a compelling argument that you just don’t know how you could possibly rebut? You didn’t spend all that time lifting weights at the gym so you couldn’t pick them up over your head and then break them in half over your knee!

Can you tell by the way somebody’s looking at you that they think they’re better than you? Finally let loose the full power of that kick you learned in karate class that up until now you’ve had to hold back on because everybody else in your dojo is “so much younger than you.”

Did you steal somebody’s land and now they’re asking to please give it back or at the very least share it with them? Those drones were expensive, have them drop some bombs, and then see who’s around to ask you to share anything.

Violence is not “never the answer”. Violence is your answer. It’s the only way you can win. Or, you know, change your ways. But who wants to do that?

A man has no children (that he knows of).

“Not that I know of,” I say, with a wink and a smile, to the hotel bartender who asked me if I had any children. Her smile tells me she’s picking up what I’m putting down, though it fades as she turns away to pour my shot and draw my beer from the tap.

Sex. That’s what I’m talking about. Having it. Having sex with so many women all over this fine land I can’t keep track of them anymore. I’d say I was a little bit like that guy Lou Bega from Mambo No. 5 but he only counts nine different ladies in that song, which, to me, is a pretty decent but not great month and a half. So I would have no clue if any of the women I’ve been with have ever conceived or given birth to a child that is biologically mine. I’ve never received a call from any of them alerting me about a possible or definite pregnancy. I’ve only ever heard the words “I’m late” from somebody who owes me money. So I don’t usually waste any time wondering “what if.”

Then again, I don’t receive many calls after the deed has been done. A few, from time to time, mostly to ask if I have seen a certain piece of jewelry they swore they had with them at the time of our meeting. “Not that I know of,” I answer them, with a wink and a smile to myself in the motel mirror.

I am, as the songs like to say, a Rolling Stone. I gather no moss and don’t get a lot of calls requesting second helpings of sex. I cater in mostly one-night stands with women I meet on the road who will never see my name pop up on their caller ID afterward. It goes both ways — or, should I say — it ghosts both ways. I’ve never heard of one specter being haunted by another, so I guess that makes it all alright.

That’s not to say there aren’t any little varmints running around out there somewhere with the same bump in their nose and twinkle in their eye as yours truly. Just that if they are, I don’t know about them, and they probably don’t know about me either. It’s better that way, for the both of us.

I wouldn’t even know what to do with a kid if I had one. Can’t even imagine it if I tried. What, would I answer their adorable little ignorant questions about life? Hold their little hands and look both ways when we cross the street? I don't have time for that, I cross streets based on instinct and haven't been pancaked flat by destiny in the form of a Dodge Charger yet. What am I supposed to watch them as they sleep and wonder what they’re dreaming about in their perfect, innocent little heads? No, thank you. Not for me. I’m quite happy doing exactly what I’m doing right now — traveling from town to town, knocking on doors, asking people if they’d like to get an estimate for new windows. I get paid if they say yes to the estimate, whether they actually buy new windows or not. It’s a pretty sweet gig.

A kid would mess that all up. I couldn’t drive for hours just to knock on a few doors to have the majority of those knocks go unanswered even though I can see there are people inside. I can see them through the windows I’m there to hopefully replace, or not, doesn’t matter to me as long as they get the estimate. I couldn’t do that because I’d have to take care of a kid. I’d have to feed them and clean them, and they’d keep me awake at night, and I’d watch them grow, and have to see them experience new things for the first time and watch their eyes fill up with wonder. How would I possibly be able to take to the road with my next batch of window estimate leads knowing I might miss the moment they try ice cream for the first time and their baby blues light up like the damn Fourth of July.

So thank you, former partners and potential mothers of my theoretical children, for protecting me from this nightmare life of fatherhood. And for protecting your/our imaginary or real children from having me as a father by either not telling them about me at all, or telling them the exact truth about who I am and what I have done. Perhaps one day, if they exist, they’ll find me and come knocking on my door for answers. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about knocking on doors it’s that most of the time, it never opens and when it does, they’re usually pretty happy with the windows they’ve already got.