Hellbound Thoughts

Post Parton: the Interminable Hell of a Wasted Life

I’ve been thinking…

…why do we have to work 8 to 10 hours per day, 5 to 7 days per week? You’d think the country with allegedly the most productive work force on Earth could afford to let its wage slaves have an extra day on the weekend, especially since corporations save all that money by not paying us fairly. Well fuck you! You’re not rich and you have to survive, so no extra day off for you, pleb!

Seriously, how fair is it that you get to spend at least a third of your life–half your waking hours–busting ass just to survive (and to make someone else rich)? WE LIVE IN THE 21ST CENTURY, yet we live as if we’re battling to defend the few newborns who survived birth from the shadow of a carnivore moving stealthily through overgrown brush just outside our cave.

FUCKING DINGOS.

F-bombs aside, this whole endeavor is pointless, isn’t it? I mean, what’s more important about being alive than BEING FUCKING ALIVE? Do you really believe your life was meant to be summed up by toil and drudgery; poor health and poverty; fear and depression?

Kill that noise.

I’ve been asked by Christians, with whom I’ve engaged in lively yet fruitless debates, what I believe the purpose of life is. Simple: to fucking exist. To enjoy it. To be so passionate about something–anything–that when Death comes knocking, you’ll greet her like an old friend come to see you back home.

THAT is the meaning of life, not work and stress and drama and the torment of our numerous existential crises.

I can’t wait to quit my job.

What about you? Is life raw-dogging you in the gen pop bathroom?

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