The Everwhat of What do I do?
Maybe I should write one of those cheesy and clichéd and repetitive and boring and redundant and cheesy and clichéd and repetitive and boring stories about infinite love and complete faith in crazy and imperfect yet inexplicably good-looking strangers who fill teen and preteen girls all over the world with high expectations of prince charming and when reality hits them like a truck that’s been honking for the last few hours turns into clichéd and boring and unoriginal and overly melodramatic oh-somebody-dies-don’t-say-bad-stuff-if-someone-kills-themself stories where only the names of the protagonists keep authors from getting caught for plagiarism.
Or maybe I should direct an action movie about a dashingly handsome good guy with a strict moral code which sometimes is a strict moral code of having no morals that allows him to walk away from explosions with hair so damn fine that the booms seem to do nothing but help set his fabulous hair gel further. A movie where drop-dead gorgeous babes either drop dead or drop clothes all because of the awesome good guy and his damn fine hair and where Greek gods have English accents and anyone who actually has an accent is looking for world domination with a maniacal laugh that should rip their arteries in one shot.
Or maybe I should sing a song about the same shallow clichéd boring repetitive and redundant love stories but with line changes in the middle whose sole purpose is to get the other preteen and teen girls who were too hipster to fall for cheesy love stories but are still stupid enough to actually just act like they don’t care about a non-existent love and fangirl over stupid morals the artist himself doesn’t believe in and it comes to a point where the artist can just fart and it is taken as a deep and significant and emotional song about the tortures of bowel movements that moves the hearts of millions of people across the world and tops charts like every other goddamn similar song before it.
Or maybe I should draw a white square and tell everyone how symbolic that is to our life and waste a thousand words describing the picture when it is supposed to describe itself while people, who actually find it boring but want to look intellectual enough to understand hidden meanings inside a while box, stare at awe at the magnificent symbolism of modern art that is actually fit to make toilet paper designs out of.
Or I could just sit here and criticize things.
Rant over, ladies and gentlemen. Class dismissed. Don’t forget to tip the waitress. Have a great night. May the force be with you. Amen.
Everwhat. Everwhat. Everwhat.
Pens and Keys 