What You Wish Your Father Had Told You

“Kid, Santa Claus doesn’t exist. Neither does the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, unconditional love, true justice, or peace in the Middle East.

Oh yeah, and love does cost a thing. First, you have to drop a few grand on a wedding ring that doesn’t get your wife ridiculed behind her back. Then you have to throw a $15,000 wedding for ungrateful assholes, half of whom hope your wife turns out to be an adulterous whore so they can nail her when you're out of town. And after the wedding, you’ll jump into six-figure debt for a cheaply-built house and, if she’s a gold digger, another five figure debt for a convertible BMW.

And then, there’s you kid. You’ve already cost me in the neighborhood of $2,500,000 since you came out, not to mention about nine years’ worth of sleep and sex, and about three inches of hairline. And you’re fixing to cost me another goddamn $100,000 when you go to college, just so you can get some hick sorority girl pregnant and land a job that’ll barely support the rent on the seedy nursing home you stick me in.

And your dreams? Your hopes? They’ll be relegated to pretty much whatever vicarious adventures prime time TV has to offer you. Enjoy!”

You Probably Already Have Cancer

It's not worth your time to exercise and eat right. You probably already have cancer. If you've participated in any of the following activities over the past few years: breathing - it's likely you are in the throws of the dying process. If you feel sadistic, go ahead and drink a couple of broccoli power shakes, but I wouldn't expect anything but flatulence as a result.

Don't go buy a bunch of new clothes

They’re not going to help. You’re stuck with what God gave you, and let’s face it – God gave you crap.

You Haven't Made a Difference

Your existence isn't making a difference. At least not a positive one. And no, picking up after your dog does nothing for your Karma. You may have prevented someone from setting off a Mentos/Diet Coke rocket in their living room, but, at best, this makes you a second-rate property manager. A first-rate property manager wouldn't associate with an idiotic douche. The universe expected more of you. Way to deliver.

News Flash - You're Not Good Enough

Remember when you're first grade teacher said you could be whatever you wanted? She lied. Unless you dreamed of being a cubicle jockey and driving a Ford Pinto, things have not gone according to plan. In fact, if you have the time and inclination to read this, you are neither rich nor interesting, meaning you've achieved nothing.

Never fear, just because Mrs. Jones was a lying cunt doesn't mean you have to trudge through life perpetually disappointed. Just shift your paradigm. Pretend that your goal was to drown in debt and wake up alone in a puddle of your own vomit. Knock down the walls of standards and embrace your inner waste of space.

Now go out and take on the day.