GENERATION XXX
It's impressive what humanity can adapt to. That someone can soldier on everyday in a house like this. A fart will echo off the empty walls and cheap vinyl floors for a month, like the distant screams of someone who fell from a cliff into the Grand Canyon. Eventually, the sound becomes confusing, indistinct, a parody of itself that blends into the remaining chattering murmurs of the Lex Fridman podcast you listened to this morning on the stairmaster. You should read that Malcolm Gladwell book he mentioned. The carnivore diet might be worth looking into; you're 56 and not getting any younger!
The house should have come equipped with an Amazon Alexa and interior Ring video cameras connected to a 24-hour livestream to an NSA database in the Rocky Mountains. I've resigned my privacy, without question. It's astonishing that I've even thought about it right now! Why didn't I start an OnlyFans? I might as well! Why not get the Amazon Alexa implanted in my skull so I don't need to think again? Why not replace my flesh-cock with a prosthetic penis? The six medications my Psychologist prescribed me have forced me to get a HIMs subscription, so my cock is hard enough to drill into granite but lacks sensation as a side effect of the medicine. I can flatten it with a rolling pin and not feel a thing.
I'm thinking about buying a gun—one with a scope. My son doesn't speak to me anymore. I saw him watching Hickok45 on YouTube. I bet I can find a gun if I watch his videos. Maybe I'll climb to the top of that parking garage they built on the last remaining tree in 50 square miles. Maybe I'll make a name for myself.
I hate my kids. My wife is a sloppy whore. The botox and lip filler make her look like Greta the Gremlin. There's so little affection between us I use Sildenafil to jerk off. She made me pay for another French Bulldog. That makes 3. They never stop barking. That piercing sound while I try to relax, fuck! I can't drink a Michelob Ultra and listen to Dave Matthews' band without hearing them fucking yap. I don't know how much more I can take. I stepped in Hugo's shit last night when I got up to pee. The shit pushed between each of my toes like beef through a meat grinder.
The mindfulness techniques aren't working. I'm either going to buy a gun or fake my death and buy a sugar cane farm in Costa Rica.
signed,
The Guy that would spend $1.84M on a house that looks like a Chipotle.