Little Things

“Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.” – Robert Brault

To get on this path to enjoyment, you should begin by giving up giving up things for Lent. Switch that ancient custom around and take on things instead. People foolishly give up chocolate, which means more chocolate for you and me. Stroll down that candy aisle, load up on Pretzel M&Ms, and tell the nosy clerk you’ve given up being one of those annoying I’m-on-a-diet people.

Instead of rubbing palm leaf ashes on your forehead (it’s bad for your complexion), how about some creamy anti-wrinkle goo? Or, you can pick up lick-and-stick tattoos and fuck with people by putting a Superman logo between your brows. This way, you’re giving up your pompous assumption that you will be rewarded for believing in imaginary beings. Instead, you show passersby you have a sense of humor. I like you.

Many a jackass give up coffee for Lent. Awful idea, unless of course you replace coffee with Red Bull. Giving up coffee will give you migraines. It will also make you lumber around the streets like a zombie. Don’t be silly. Head straight to Starbucks and venti that shit.

Some people give up swearing for Lent. What silly fuckery this is! Cussing is fun. Sentences don’t make sense without a smattering of god damn curse words. How does one make an effective fucking point while avoiding the seven deadly swears?

  • That unattractive fellow is being a doo doo head because he’s attempting to take home that lovely woman.
  • That dog-faced douchebag is fucking clueless. There’s no way the big tittied fuck machine is going home with him.

I rest my case.

Another popular castoff is alcohol. Bwah, ha ha ha! (That was my liver.) How else are inhibitions going to be lowered? I’ve tried this one: “The world is ending, so you should get naked, quick.” It didn’t work. Conversely, I have had a woman drink me cute. After one bottle of Justin Cab, I was actually deemed fuckable. Yay! Sadly, she passed out before I could fulfill the prophecy. Boo. Yet, because I have not foolishly given up that fine love nectar made from grapes, I’ll likely have another shot at a hottie with wine goggles.

Some salad queens give up fast food for Lent. How does one define fast food anyway? It’s all relative. It takes the same amount of time to fry fries in Ruth’s Chris as it does in McDonalds, right? So, which is fast food? Neither, I say. Fast food is the handful of Swedish Fish I just swiped from the candy counter and stuffed into my face. One might think I’ve done this because I’ve given up meat for Lent. Nope. My body is addicted to Red 40 food dye. Without it, I might just shrivel up and die.

(Be right back. I need to extract these red fucking gobs from my food pockets. Annoying.)

I hear there are those who give up the internet for Lent. Since those assholes are obviously not here, let’s gossip about them. I hear they are rubes with pea brains. They’re probably doing something wasteful, like working or crossword puzzles. Dorks. I do appreciate you, reader, for not giving up technology. If you were here, I’d feed you liquor-filled chocolates and have sex with you. Bless you.

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About the author

Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.