Life’s an overpriced blowjob. Or meal. Or any kind of prize or reward. How much work do we have to put into achieving whatever we want? And how many of us accomplish anything at all? Because for every fancy meal some rich motherfucker will have in the course of any given day, effortlessly, thousands will starve to death. How is that fair?
The collective consciousness is bullshit. How many of us have to pay for someone else’s joy? For some other shithead to collect the fruits of our labor? We, average Joes and Janes of the world, are damned to fail. We are taught to feel entitled, yet this entitlement is based in false pretenses. Meritocracy? Blah. There, in the time you’ll take to finish this paragraph, a few slaves will have died somewhere, not before having worked their asses off until their last breath. Talk about their anonymous merits, the rewards awaiting for them in the dust.
I’m among the lucky ones. Boys and men worldwide have and will pay with their hard earned money for billions of expensive dinners and drinks and club tickets to get a lousy handjob in return. Maybe. Probably not even that. Me? Nah. I have and will get all the blowjobs and intercourse they won’t, with less than half the effort and none of the expenses. Where’s the fairness in that? I don’t see it. (Although I don’t agree with the sexist idea of getting sex in return of treats. But I’m a feminist. Or relatively smart.)
Perhaps my current dry spell is the Universe’s way of leveling things out. Maybe some poor bastard is going to cash in some return on his investment and get a blowjob for cheap. Or free! Imagine that? And, in the odd chance of that happening, my existential angst will give in and fuck off. Angels will come down from the skies and sing a marvelous symphony in the ear of that guy getting head. And my spell will be broken. And I’ll come back to keep making the world one unjust shithole, to restore the unbalance of it all. One fuck at a time.