Another Day In Paradise

I wake up late again, uncharacteristically sad and inept.

I have a cheese omelet for breakfast and I watch the news. They’re still arguing over who bombed that hospital full of people in Gaza. The Palestinians blame the Israelis. The Israelis blame the Palestinians. I can’t tell them apart so I hate them both.

I meet my friends in the city. We shoot the breeze in a wonderful café with interesting paintings on the walls, unapologetically avant-garde I would say. The coffee and the croissants are exceptional. I order more.

We play a game of football. I score 6 goals, one from a free kick à la Beckham. Everyone is jealous. I feel so good about myself. I feel like God.

I’m home again, a mere mortal. They still haven’t figured out who really bombed that hospital in Gaza. I conclude that it doesn’t matter. People believe what they want to believe. It’s always been that way.

Some dumb cunt on CNN is audaciously anti-Semitic and I chuckle. I love it when leftists show their true colors in times of horror, don’t you?

I’m bored. I play Starfield. I solemnly declare jihad like I did in Oblivion and I go on a murderous rampage in New Atlantis. Hundreds die by my cool guns. The whole universe shall feel my wrath! I say out loud.

It’s raining. It sucks. I sometimes hate rain. Maybe I should listen to music. Or maybe not. Starfield it is.

I suddenly remember that I have to get shit done and I freak the fuck out. I teleport back to Earth and I light up a joint. I work from home these days but I have deadlines to meet. They are never met, to tell you the truth, these damn deadlines.

I work for 3 hours straight, no breaks, writing stuff on my laptop. It’s the joint. A great achievement, nonetheless. I celebrate with a beer.

I’m bored again. I play another round of Starfield and I issue a verdict. The missions are boring, the gunplay is mediocre, everything is stupid and gay. 3/10. Don’t buy this crap.   

It’s dark outside. I trot into the kitchen and I make myself a turkey sandwich with extra mayonnaise. I drink another beer. I eat and drink in my underpants all by myself, staring at the fridge, such a depressing scene.

I watch a movie. I try to think of something witty to tweet but I can’t think of anything. If I had a gun to my head I’d be dead. God I suck. I’m a joke.

I pick up the phone again. I quarrel with retards online and I love it. I use all kinds of slurs and I’m ultimately forced to drop an N-bomb, the most lethal bomb of them all. I drop it and I emerge victorious once more. I take it back – I’m not a joke.

I try to convince myself that I’m a good person. Why even bother? It can’t be done.

I seek no answers, no solutions… not anymore.

It’s late. I’m tired. I turn off the lights and I shut down.


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