Tag: life advice

Don’t Leave Banana Peels on the Stairs

Slippery Things + Steep Things = Broken Things

Likewise, don’t leave tacks on the floor by your bed.

Sharp Things + Unseeing Feet = PAIN

There are so many ways of saying this but I think the best way is to shout really loudly the following words:

STOP TRYING TO PASSIVELY AGGRESSIVELY HURT YOURSELF BY DOING THINGS YOU KNOW WILL HURT YOU BUT WILL LOOK LIKE YOU DIDN’T INTEND TO SO YOU CAN ACT ALL ANGRY AND SURPRISED WHEN YOU SLIP ON THE DAMN PEEL AND BREAK YOUR NECK OR CLUTCH YOUR BLEEDING FEET AND CURSE JESUS, WHO, BY THE WAY, WOULD NOT HAVE LEFT STUPID TACKS ON THE FLOOR BUT SIMPLY SMACKED YOU UPSIDE THE HEAD IF HE MEANT TO DO ANY VIOLENCE TO YOU AT ALL.

Self saboteurs are a smug lot.  I speak from past personal experience*.  They like to go around the world blaming everyone for why they spend their lives fucking up and falling down.  They create an atmosphere of dangerous accidents they can get righteously angry about and then not take responsibility for.   But to an outside observer, it is generally obvious that they’re setting themselves the most clumsy and obvious traps imaginable very much like Coyote who continually thinks Acme will definitely maybe someday make a contraption that WON’T backfire on him (smash him, cut him, blow him up, break his bones, or drop him from the sky).  He keeps buying from Acme because he can blame all the malfunctions on a genius fake cartoon company instead of asking himself why the hell he doesn’t stop trying to catch that same road runner every single day and move on to something else or move to a city where there are lots of kittens to eat and trash cans to ransack for food less stringy and tough than that wily hateful bird**.

So my advice to you, if you are a self saboteur like me, stop putting banana peels on the stairs and admit that you’re trying to fuck yourself up so that no one else can do it to you first.  Living in the world never knowing where the next punch is coming from is more frightening than setting constant traps for yourself so that the blows are always coming from yourself, but there comes a point when these old gags  become ridiculous and lose their effectiveness.

It’s time to take the punches like a man.  Or, better yet, a kick-ass resilient woman who can not only take the punch but parry it before it ever hits and pin the pugilist to the floor.

Underlying message: no need to hurt yourself, there are plenty of people out there waiting for their chance to hurt you and the less time you spend trying to hurt yourself first to take away the sting, the more life you’ll get lived and the stronger you’ll be, making you perfectly able to take the blows when they come.  The other message here is to take responsibility for the things you’ve messed up on purpose and stop looking for ways to deflect all the blame outwards for your mistakes and falls and breaks.

*Two days ago.

**I really hate Road Runner.

Take Your Socks Off!

Socks aren’t sexy.  They can sometimes be pretty, cute, sporty, sad, rustic, happy, rugged, or even versatile.

But they are NEVER sexy.

So when you’re undressing for a romp, I suggest that the first thing you remove is your socks.  Always.  (You should do this anyway, even if you’re just undressing for bed, with no prospect of a romp.)  Because even for those of you who are sex-gods: you are NOT sexy in your socks.

Should you ever find yourself completely naked except for your socks, you should book yourself an appointment with your therapist immediately (and book one for your partner too, because after seeing you like that they may have a very hard time getting in the mood again for a long time).

I’m going to give a little piece of extra sock advice: white tube socks are the most hideously unsexy socks on the planet.  You shouldn’t even own any.  But if you are so misguided as to wear white tube socks: take them off the second you wish to appear attractive and sexy to another human being!

Just in case you asked:

What’s so bad about white tube socks?  They sag.  They bag.  They are always dingy after the first wear.  They’re white for god’s sake!  They’re uninspired.  Not designed for feet.  Instantly bring to mind: stinky bachelors in airless apartments that smell like dirty laundry, old pizza crusts under the bed, Budweiser beer cans in the sink, and tighty whities.

Final word: SEX AND SOCKS DON’T MIX*

*Unless you happen to have a sock fetish.  You might want to make sure your partner is also a sock fetishist.