Fuck You Finals Week!

The Doom Looms
It's Been A Long Time Since It's Been Cool To Be A Slacker

Finals week has reminded me of why I was so eager to graduate from college the first time. Thank god I don't have to take anything like chemistry, which has cumulative exams and requires you to actually comprehend the material.

HOLY FUCK what kind of place would I be in if I had to do things that I couldn’t bullshit? I'm at a point in my life where I can't do anything that can't be bullshitted– seriously, who would want to do anything in life that required actual competence, knowledge or skills? In order to succeed in such a field you would need preparation and effort. I am not down with that these days.

The other night I had a dream that I was in some beachside shack trying to write something on a typewriter. Some of the keys were hard to push down, and whenever I got into a flow of typing I would get to those keys that were harder to push down and looking upon the page under the ribbon I saw that I had letters missing in all of my words. It was full of typos and it was more of an incoherent mess than this blog. I wondered if it was an omen of some kind.

There is no shortage of people who want to be published writers, and the odds of success are against me. It is entirely possible that I will die in poverty. Not by suicide, that is too much of a writer cliché. No, I will probably be killed by another hobo for my last bottle of Wild Irish Rose. That fucker will know that he can't get me while I'm awake, so he will get me while I am asleep nuzzling my bottle by the burning barrel at the abandoned train yard. He will probably find a cinder block and crack my skull open, or he will stab me in the chest with a loose rail-spike that he found.

What a way to go! The irony of it will be that I won’t die as the result of my own alcoholism, desperation or destitution but rather I will die of someone else’s. It will be an irony worth writing about. Sadly, someone else will cash in on it.