According to esquire magazine I should have my shit together. I should have the graduate degree, healthy relationship, happy shiny children and a non-JC Penny suit to go to my career oriented job. I should have come to appreciate Bob Dylan and liberal politics. I should have my debt in control as well as my alcohol abuse... But baby I'm an anarchist I have no job or prospects. My family is wary of my abusive behavior and vapid make money quick schemes. I wear doc marten boots and have a beer belly and have a crooked smile. My children scream all the time and fight like cats and dogs. I have gray hair and creditors calling me every fucking hour on the hour. I know how to do very little. I have very few friends. Those friends that I do have I keep at a distance because they might catch what I got. I've seen it before. Its not pretty. I am petty and lazy and hate the internet.
But, and I hope you saw that coming, I am happy today. So fuck it. On Friday I'm going to cash in my penny jar and buy myself a 12 pack of whatever is on sale and morn the loss of another year without the things I'm suppose to have and be. Then I will burn the stack of esquire magazines that I keep next to my toilet because no man should be defined by what he reads on the shitter as he takes a dump.
