“Your life does not get better by chance, it gets better by change.” – Jim Rohn
In today’s news, Angelina Jolie has been called a hero for making her boobies go bye-bye. Her choice made sense, since doctors estimated she had an 87% risk of breast cancer because of a faulty gene. Yet, I never realized one could be called a hero for rescuing oneself from something that might happen. Interesting. This got me thinking I should check the odds and heroically rescue myself from things that might happen.
- Marriage – What an awful thing! I definitely have the gene, since I’ve already done this, and all those above me in the family tree have gone out on that limb at least once. To avoid it, I could have my left ring finger removed, leaving me with a left hand “shocker.” Alas, I have grown fond of my fingers, and can’t part with any. I could turn gay and move to a conservative state. Nah. The best option is to only date married women.
- Children – I took care to avoid those smelly nuisances by getting snipped. And all was bright and peaceful in the kingdom of Phil.
- House Party – Is there any way to make a house party less boring? Well, sure, but few hosts hire strippers. Most hire those annoying balloon animal clowns. Then there’s the inflatable bounce ball pit, which is only exciting when on ’shrooms. Guests bring cheap wine and booze, then opt to drink the most expensive ones they can find. Cubed cheese sweats and becomes inedible in minutes. I do enjoy a good deviled egg. Still, I’d rather be on my sofa. The best way to avoid the tedium of house parties is to become the guest people forget to invite. I can do that spilling red wine, overindulging in tequila, and peeing in a hamper.
- Office – Once I escaped the cubicle farm, I realized it was a torture dungeon for greedy slaves. Offices are easy to avoid: Write an obnoxious blog and say “fuck” a lot.
- Baldness – As much as it sucks entering old manness, a few swipes of the clippers and the illusion of success keep mating options available. I’m sorry, ladies, that you don’t age as gracefully. My advice to you is to learn how to give legendary head. Use both hands, not two fingers, and lots of spit, then squeeze every last drop like you’re finishing a tube of toothpaste. I’ll hit the barber while you practice.
- DUI – The obvious solution would be to stop drinking, but that would make for dull evenings. I could hire a driver or take taxis everywhere, but I’d need to sell a few hundred thousand more books to afford it. Perhaps dating a police officer would save me. Best bet is to live next door to a bar. It is a buyer’s market.
- Obesity – Fat and happy is better than thin and miserable, so I’ll not fight this. If famine sets in, the skinny pricks in bike shorts, running shoes, and Lululemon attire will be the first to die. Have all the kale and vinaigrette (on the side) you want, twiggy, I’m eating burgers, pizza, and chocolate, then masking my misplaced bumps with dark colors and dim lighting.
- Dogs – These are noisier, smellier, and more destructive than children. Hard to fathom. I always tell prospective mates I’m allergic to dogs. If that doesn’t dissuade them, I order Vietnamese food, lick myself, and pee on a newspaper. I’d also scratch my ears with my feet if I were a bit more limber. When Miss Dog-Replaced-My-Ex gets all snarky and remarks about my cats and the fact that they shit in a box in my laundry, I slap her with my penis-sword and banish her from my castle.