Future Imperfect

It seems like there's some self-improvement gene lodged firmly in the disgusting, filthy chromosomes of genus Homo, telling us that we'll never find the ecstasy of nirvana until we've not only caught up with the Joneses, but trampled their bodies flat and dated their daughters (Priscilla, plz call). It's the theory behind the millions of anonymous emails I get every day selling something to give me a little boost. The spammers who actually know me just keep asking what it's like being me, so they have something awesome-sounding to put in the messages they keep sending to everyone else.

I don't need the gym membership, thanks. I get plenty of exercise lifting that fifth of gin for all those reps. I feel the burn, babe. Mostly because gin tastes like vodka and perfume mixed together.

Improve my memory? You're making me laugh. There's a reason I take Ambien, and it's not because life is worth living to the last drop. Actually, about three-quarters of life is a miserable waste of time. That would be all the periods in time where I'm not programming, gaming, or secretly fantasizing about Neko Case threatening to cut me with a pocketknife.

Pills do not make you smarter. Reading doesn't make you smarter (though it does sensitize blah blah pathways blah I slept with your sister blah blah exercise your mind.) What I've learned through living and being smarter than everybody is that apparently, you get smarter by doing lots of drugs, never doing homework, and eating once every three days.

I don't need to improve my love life. If you have a thing for silent, motionless, and smelling of damp earth, your performance doesn't really matter an awful lot. It's like buying a Lotus Elan and using it to prop your garage door open.

Sure, I'm asian and I get sick frequently. What you don't know is that my body is basically Virus University; after incubating in me for three days, a harmless cold bug becomes a white-people killing plague. One time I was waiting in line for tickets to see Finding Nemo when I got one of those sudden sneezes, the kind that you just can't move fast enough to cover completely. Everybody in front of me immediately keeled over, but so did the ticket guy so instead of watching the movie I just jumped on the internet and found Nemo myself. He was in the bathroom.