Hello
my names Chas. It isn’t of course. It’s a ridiculous pseudonym
that came to me when reading the back of a Pizza box. This seems as
good a way of finding a name as any other. Current social convention
would have me named after some racist, semi educated kicker of wind
or place of conception (I’d be up the bum and trickled out again,
most likely). I hope the previous sentence informs you dear reader of
the level at which I am pitching this. If bum-love offends you. Or
willing aggressively contagious flesh eating diseases on any section
of the public I deign to acknowledge and find irksome, then look away
now. Commencing Rant in, 3, 2 1…..go for it Starsky.
Life is time, and time is? Money. Money, I find, is very much like confetti at the wedding that is life. Throw it out there, let others enjoy it and keep none for yourself. Watch as your finances are metaphorically trodden underfoot and only very occasionally nestle in the soft cleavage of solvency. Below Is a short passage in no particular order about nothing specific, with little evidence and lots of opinion. Think of the rambling prose as indicative of the life your dear author leads. Then sprinkle on some hundreds and thousands, and for hundreds and thousands read shit and syphilitic rat Jism.
The
first lesson to be learned about money, is that it can be exchanged
for goods and services, indeed these goods and services can be
purchased with money not even in your possession. This is called
credit and life is about spending as much money on credit as
possible. In the afterlife, credit ratings are actually reversed and
prizes are given out (citation needed). The ideal situation is to
have spent slightly more money than you can ever possibly pay back,
thus achieving the blissful limbo like state ‘Robbing Peter to pay
Paul’ (both of whom you’ll meet in the afterlife anyway and
they’ll just get Jesus to hassle you for the money for all
eternity). There’s very little point making sound investments,
saving frugally or scrimping and saving. You’ll die anyway, the
world is a cruel and imperfect place and because I said so. Simply
take as many credit cards, store cards and unsecured loans as
possible and spend, spend, spend. Nobody expects people to pay back
these debts. The proper government guidelines are as follows:
1.)
Move back home with your parents and exist on a diet of coco pops and
cheap processed meat.
2.)
Become adept at evading creditors and their sub-species the venerable
debt collector (perhaps employ a funny voice).
3.) Declare bankruptcy, wait a while, get away with it.
Bankruptcy
can extend to one’s emotional reserves (see what I did there, nice
Segway). I feel this justifies my views on the wonders that are….
Relationships
can be approached in any number of ways (ok there are two, but that’s
a number). In my experience you are either a dumper of a dumpee.
These two types of people are the twitchy meerkats and slow witted
sloths of the relationship world. The prime difference being who
realises first that things aren’t working or that things are fine
for them but the other person thinks things aren’t working. Pulling
the trigger on operation “fuck this loser off and on to the next”
is all that matters in a relationship. Emotions, growing as a person,
and the meeting of two minds is all gash. Paranoia, and your darling
spouse receiving length from good old Luis on that business trip to
Barcelona are the metaphorical (and my literal) stark reality. If you
never get dumped, you win! Of course popular Hollywood movies,
literature through the ages, blind faith or even a happy, rounded
childhood would have you believe in true love. Well people believed
the earth was flat and where did that get anyone (other than some
precarious balancing on the edge).
It
is important to make your potential spouse feel small and
unimportant, grind them down so their self-esteem is so low they
wouldn’t dream of leaving you and exist only to make you cups of
tea and fulfil your grubby little needs on request. If they start to
feel good about themselves or have a social life, for god’s sake
dump them sharpish to protect your fragile little ego. Essentially
ensure you’ve let yourself go only slightly less than your spouse,
it is after all a race to get back to your most false and attractive
self to find your next victim partner. You may think I’ve just had
a bad experience and yes I have, it’s called life. Things all
seemed so much rosier in the good old days before taking any adult
responsibility which brings me to…….
University
is a breeding ground for future heads of industry, managing
directors, astronauts and Ninja assassins. OK, it isn’t. All good
jobs are either fantasy, filled by idiots who want to “help people”
or given to that, special strata of society who go to one of those
elite institutions that Daddy paid for. My advice,. Give up. Become
good at drinking and pool, that way you can at least impress somebody
at the pub, or remain coherent enough at a typical proletariat
meat-market of a weekend to convince some X-Factor fan to touch your
genitalia. Let’s face it, 50% of people go to university, thus
rendering it next to pointless. Consider it a holiday from real life
and don’t waste it attending lectures. Form some half arsed
opinions based on what Tarquin might have said and ponce around in a
scarf being cynical and protesting the G8. Perhaps conduct an
experiment on whether it’s possible for humans to subsist on pot
noodles, watered down lager and the smell of their own pretentious
farts! Science and all good sense tells us that trousers were
designed to be worn on or near the waist and that most household
items will burn when microwaved. Do you really believe “the man”
on this one. Investigate. If you need a hobby (to pass all the free
time not going to lectures), why not try finding a cure for the
latest social disease picked up from, ummmmmm, you know, what’s
their name…….. Nearly-closing-time Jones.
It’s
ok though, once a fine education has been received there’s the
wonderful world of work until you die to look forward to. With the
current sliding scale for pensionable age, rest assured it will
always be just out of reach. The cold hand of death (or your 130 year
old quasi-dead partner thanks to modern medicine) will grasp us all
at the end. I will leave work as a topic for another time though, far
too much to cover in a couple of paragraphs.
Until
next time (unless I can’t be bothered)
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