The Pig Farm by Earl W. Brightman

Once upon a time, there were three little pigs, in fact, there were much more than that; there were eighty little pigs; eighty regular, not very special or notable, little pigs. They all lived in the same pen, on the same farm and all ate the same slop. Kenny the farmer and his wife Sharon tended to the little pigs and made sure they were taken care of, fed and happy. One day Kenny became tired of tending to the pigs and wanted to retire, so he decided to sell the little pigs to whoever would buy them.

He sold a great many to Sheriff Richard Lumbo who also had a pork field, and he sold some to Lady Kunelle who, with her husband Regnor, made hand crafted, artisanal, vintage style door handles from pig hooves and jellied pork fat to sell at the fair.

Kenny sold all but three of the little pigs who, as it turned out, were all runts. They could not produce offspring that was viable for a pork farm and their tiny little hooves were just too small to make nice hand crafted, artisanal, vintage style door handles for the discerning home decorator and décor enthusiast.

These three little pigs stayed on that farm and it made Kenny very upset; if he could not sell his pigs then he could not retire. After a few days of mulling over how to rid himself of these tiny little pork puffs, Kenny had finally found a solution.

 

Kenny got up early and walked out to the pen where the three little pigs were walking about, pooping, eating, and rolling about in the mud.

“Listen up, listen up! Today you three little pigs are gonna make your way off my farm, and I am going to retire and live peacefully!” Kenny said to the three very small and quite aloof piggies.

“First little pig, you’re gonna learn how to shoe a horse and get a job and get off my farm!”

The Farmer led the little pig into the barn where his horses were, and he sat him down on a small stool. “This is where ya do the shoeing, grab that hammer and that shoe and put it on the horse like this.” Kenny showed the little pig how to shoe a horse and talked in great detail about how best to not hurt the horse so he would not cave your face in.

Kenny noticed the pig was walking to the yard during the most important part and so had to reel in the little pig; he did not like it when people ignored him while he was teaching them about horse shoeing.

 

“First little pig, get back here and pay attention! I am teaching you about the valuable and life enhancing skill of horse shoeing”, but the little pig was just that: a little pig. He did not understand what Kenny was saying to him or why he sounded so loud and obnoxious, so he continued to walk into the yard where he began to eat the slop with the other little pigs. This very blatant act of defiance sent Kenny into a profound rage.

“Little pig, little pig, get your tail back in!” he roared with all the might of an industrial grade combine.

…

The little pig continued to eat slop, fart, roll about in the mud, and just generally be the little pig that he was.

“Little pig, little pig, I won’t tell you again!”

The miniature pork pod lied down in the mud and began to sleep. As you can imagine, this did not make Kenny very happy. He walked out into the yard, picked up the small oinker and brought him to The Chop.

 

 

 

Kenny came back out to the yard where the last two piggies were eating slop and farting. Kenny called to the second little pig, “Second little pig, I’m gonna teach you how to bail hay and you’ll start your own farm, leave my farm and then I can retire and live in peace.”

Kenny brought the little pig to the field where there many bales of hay and much that needed to be made into a bale. The second little pig proved to be a much more attentive student, and Kenny was pleased.

 

“You know, you’re getting the hang of this pretty quickly, might be a real good farmer pig one day!” a big smile spread across his face and he began to be hopeful of the future of this little pig. In reality, the little pig had only jumped up over a stack of hay. The rope caught his curly tail, and when he jumped down the rope fell from his tail and landed right on itself. Kenny exclaimed, “Ha HA! You did it! I knew one of you little porkers would be destined for greatness.”

He and the little pig started a second bale of hay; all was fine until the pig refused to jump over the straw again.

“Little pig, little pig, jump over the straw again.”

…

The little pig stood there staring at Kenny, having absolutely no idea what he was saying. Pigs do not speak English, nor do they speak French; they only oink about and look cute. The would-be sausage patty began to walk to the yard to eat slop and roll in mud.

“Little pig, little pig, I won’t tell you again!”

The undersized ham cloud continued to walk to the yard (because Kenny does not speak Swine-tongue) and the farmer became furious. He picked up the little pig and brought him to The Chop as well.

 

Now the third little pig was a bit smarter than the other two and thus, Kenny was sure he could get bacon-on-legs to leave his farm. He made his way to the pen where he observed the little pig eating slop and oinking.

“Third little pig, I am going to teach you how to cook. Then you can get a job at a nice diner, leave my farm and I can retire in peace.”

The pig seemed to oink in reply; Kenny smiled big and brought the little pig into the kitchen. His wife, Sharon was also in the kitchen preparing dinner for the two of them. She gave her husband a look of confusion, rolled her eyes and ignored the situation, for it was not the first time her husband brought the pigs inside the house.

“Sharon, if ya don’t mind, I’d like to take over preparing dinner, gonna teach this here piggy how ‘da cook!” he said this with so much confidence you could taste it in the air; it was quite a stale flavor.

“Fine by me, but don’t expect that pig to be able to do it, it’s just a pig Kenny.” She set down the utensils she was working with, walked into the living room, and turned on Judge Judy. Kenny propped the little pig on the counter and began to teach it the basics of cooking.

“First we have to crack this egg”, he said, “Now grab that gently with your mouth and follow my example.” Kenny cracked the egg into the bowl and so too did the pig.

“HAHA! Sharon, the little pig cracked an egg!” he ran to the living room, grabbed her up out of the chair, and dragged her to the kitchen. He ran over to the little pig to point at his egg cracking achievement, but slipped on the egg that the little pig cracked onto the ground, fell backward and hit his head upon the windowsill.

 

The obituary ran in the paper and many people attended his funeral. They all spoke of his delicious mayonnaise and his love for John Deere themed kites. He was only remembered for his mayonnaise, and was otherwise known as a man who had no patience and killed pigs because they cannot do human things.

 

Kenny’s obituary in the Gruntenburgh Gazette

Imagine This Thing

There I am, if you look close enough you can see how my clothes don’t fit me and my unkempt hair. Anyhow, there I am, grazing upon delicious green grasses in a meadow that had just seen the last sunshine for the day. Laying on a soft patch of moss after my feast I begin to wonder what life would be like if I had stapler hands. Imagine all the office work I could bind together and have organized for the boss! People wouldn’t dare fuck with me, no one wants to have sharp double pronged metal embedded in their face.

Staple hands could be great, but what about rocket legs? Flying and scorching faces from above. I could be a military weapon of unsurpassed power. Staple hand rocket leg man. Think about projectile nails firing fast through a gun barrel that is my face. BOOM. Now you’re fucked, because here comes Stapnailocket Man to wreck your shit. Try and take this red stapler, I DARE you.

That’d be all well and good, but imagine for a moment that you have a omelet feet and celery fingers. Breakfast with lungs and the ability to math. Not quite your style eh? How about a tape gun dick. Damn boi! Got dat mmm hmmm! Sticky dick Trent is what they’d call you.

I feel like great foobner.

Rain

 

She jumped, wind blowing fast through her hair, eyes held open. The rain too had jumped from the clouds high above her. Together they were on a fast and exhilarating journey toward the ground. As her body danced freely through the cold, wet air she caught a glimpse of a rain drop. She could see the droplet so clearly, as if time had slowed to halt; it was beautiful. She began to wonder why the rain has to fall from the clouds. Couldn’t there be an easier way to quench the dry soil? Was there not a less pain filled way to reach it’s destination?

The thought of why she had jumped crossed her mind. There was no clear reason behind it, it just felt like something she needed to do. Rain. The water jumps from the clouds, falls seemingly forever, only to hit the ground. When the droplet reaches the ground, life is given new energy. Gaia’s thirst is quenched and the trees continue to filter the oxygen we all breath and shade the gardens where we find tranquility. Beauty flourishes as a result of this fall.

What good could come of my jump from this overpass? What life would thrive in my wake? What, if any, sort of beauty would blossom and fill the world? She believed she could be like the rain, that her fall would quench that thirst. It was justification enough. She felt free for those last few moments before Gaia and her met face to face. She felt warmth and contentment wrap her up tightly; a hug, only to be replaced with the cold hand of regret and broken dreams.

---

 

 

 

Here Comes Santa Clause, here Comes Santa Clause, right down Alcohol Lane.

Why don’t we ever hear of Mrs. Clause? There was a time when I was younger (I’m 26 now) when she was around. She helped Santa with the lists and the checking and making food before the annual flight. I’m a bit concerned though with all this mass consumerism going on that maybe she left him. Think about it; Everyone is buying shit on the cheap online and during Black Friday-esq sales and putting Santa out of business. Those letters that children mailed out were making him money. Companies would give Santa a hefty commission for every letter he got with a product of theirs on their. Santa was loaded and that’s why no one ever found where his HQ was in the North Pole, he had it camouflaged from the prying eye of the public to protect his life’s work.

So where is Mrs. Clause? I did some research and found out she was previously married to Jack Frost. He was quite rich back in the 60’s after he licensed his likeness for cartoons and such. She left him when he filed for bankruptcy and Jack was left out in the cold. It’s no surprise that she left Santa, he has been forced to do mall gigs just to get sales and volunteering for the Salvation Army. After digging through public and private records, I discovered that she left Santa in early 2005 and moved back in with Jack Frost around August 2005. She could live no more with the fading holiday icon. Jack Frost helped a young Steve Jobs start Apple Corp. and has since seen an increase in personal revenue. Santa and Mrs. Clause’s marriage had been in turmoil for some years and the fights only got worse as the money stopped coming in. Elves had to laid off, bills were going unpaid and the lavish lifestyle Mrs. Clause had become accustomed to was halted.

I managed to score an interview with The Man in Red and it was disastrous. He cried and cried, and showed me his extensive alcohol addiction. The big guy needs some love this season. So leave the gift giving to Santa this year and next. He needs to be needed, it’s his job and he’s being pushed out by the big corporations. Its another sad story of Mom and Pop goes under cause of BigCorp Global.

P.S. Santa if you’re reading this, you’ll find another woman. That gold-digging whore will know she made a big mistake when she left you. Jack Frost might have more money than God, but your heart is big and warm and overflowing with love. Jack Frost is cock.

I can’t wait for you to return home! I shaved my armpits and my back just for you and I await now with great anticipation as to what you might do with my soft body when you come parading through our front door. HARK! my panties have fallen to my ankles and my sports bra is slowly starting to tear apart; my breasts are growing as if they have an erection. OH DO HURRY my love, for if i have to wait for much longer i may have to violate our cooking utensils, i will make the rolling pin my pleasure slave and it WILL please my primal need for sex. What glorious carnal debauchery waits for you my sweet, sweet man muffin, i can smell it now; the hot, wet sexual penetration never stopping, not even to tend to our fresh born son.
Dinner is served, we have mashed potatoes and cunt, now dig in and don’t by shy, there is plenty to go around. I think the neighbor can hear me panting viciously as you send a barrage of balls toward my lathered face, lathered with Dove brand moisturizing soap for an easy clean up and clear pores.

Diary of a Mad Serial Killer (My moral compass is fucked)

The feeling I get when you come around it like nothing I have ever experienced in my life. When I open the cellar and find you quivering there, scared and alone. nothing can compare to the cold sweats you give me when I thrash you within an inch of your life. I can hardly contain myself as I reach into my pants pocket and withdraw my Swiss army knife. Sliding the blade against my forearms and allowing the nectar to escape; dopamine rushes through my body. You scream and plead for your life and I do nothing to stop myself from dissecting to see what give you such motivation to leave me. I delight in the screams you make, nothing brings me a greater pleasure.

I have kept you in my basement for 23 years. The changes i have seen you go through reassure me that I would be an excellent parent. You have only escaped from the chains once and I was impressed by your ability to see something through; to see your valiant display of perseverance is almost erotic. Now I am in prison and I wish for nothing more than to be next to your cold lifeless body, basking in the memory of what was once the most romantic thing I have ever been a part of.

 

Here is a song.

A Truly Sacred Bond

I had grown up by the time my parents ended their 38 year marriage. I wasn’t really affected by it; I had my own life to live and my own goals to achieve. After about year or so I got curious about why they decided to end the relationship. I never thought they were unhappy with each other. I drove to my father’s house to talk with him, it had been a while since we last saw one another anyhow and a visit would undoubtedly do him some good. He lived on the outskirts of town on an old cattle ranch; the property was perfect for man like him. Lots of nature and fresh air; it was perfect for him to write his music and stories, plus my children loved the massive play area. My father took great joy in having grandchildren to spoil.

I pulled up the dirt driveway and parked next to his truck. He was sitting on the porch playing his guitar and drinking a beer.

“Hey old man! How’s is going?”

“Not bad son, not bad. Sit down and have drink, they’re in the cooler there.” He pointed to a faded blue beach cooler in between the two chairs on his porch. As usual he had it filled with PBR and a few cans of dry roasted peanuts.

“So,” he asked me, “what’s going in your world?”

“Not a lot, work is going pretty good. I have a few days’ vacation this week so I convinced Deb to let me have a day for myself.” I said with a smile. He looked at me in that fatherly way that let you know he knew you had something pressing on your mind.

“Now I can’t imagine you’d come all the way out here just sit down with an old guy and drink beer. What’s on your mind son?” he said.

“Well I’ve been wondering why you and mom got divorced. I’m not broken up about it or anything, just curious that’s all.” He put his beer down on the lid of the cooler, placed the Taylor acoustic in its holder and turned toward me.

“We wanted to explore other things in our life. You know before we don’t have them anymore.” He said this bluntly as if I should have now this fact.

“But I was wondering, isn’t marriage a sacred institution; something to be honored?”

“Let me explain son. Your mother and I spent 38 years together; completely dedicated to each other in every way. I loved her and I still do very much. We got divorced because she wanted to go and do things that had no interest in. I am okay with this; I want her to be happy. That is what true love is all about son; if you love your wife or husband, you’ll do what it takes to see them happy; even if it means we no longer share the same name, bed or household.”

“so did you just sort of grow apart? I can’t imagine you two being cross with one another.”

“I suppose in ways, yes we did; but our love did not fade and we were never cross with each other, at least in the grand scheme of things. You see, the concept of marriage in the world today is so flawed that I’m not sure if most people even know what it is really about. We fight to preserve the sanctity of marriage in our courts, and teach children what the correct way to love is. This is wrong on so many levels,” he picked up his beer and finished it. Reached into the cooler and cracked open a new one, “it is not the sanctity of marriage we should be preserving, it is our feelings and commitments to one another we should be preserving. It don’t matter if you get legally married or if she gets a ring or you share a last name. It’s really about a commitment to love each other.”

“Well yeah, why else would anyone get married? I know some people use it to get rich or whatever; take advantage of an old mans wealth and such.”

“Listen, love comes in all sorts of flavors. Just because I no longer go to church with her or make pancakes in the morning and watch stupid movies with her, doesn’t mean I don’t love her; though some people would have you think differently. If your mother needed me, I would drop whatever it was I was doin’ and be there in a flash. She wanted to explore the world and not in that Indiana Jones sort of way; she wanted to meet people, hear their stories and share experiences that I could never give her. Everyone has something different to offer; I offered her unconditional love and stability at the core. We did have great spontaneous adventures and got in our fair share of trouble. She wanted other things, and we talked about this at times and I always asked her what she wanted to do and i knew it was my duty as her husband to provide her with happiness, even if it meant letting her go.

Your mother is a very loyal woman; you ought to know that right now. We were never had a moment of infidelity between us. We had discussed that when it was time, we would part ways and let one another explore life as we saw fit. She sends me emails about her travels and the people she meets and I share my songs with her still. She even got a few of ‘em sent to Hollywood! I want her to be unchained in this part of her life. She spent so much time cultivating our family and making sure we all had what we needed and I did the same. She deserves to live her life as she sees fit now. I have seen pictures of her; I don’t think I’ve seen quite as happy as she is now.”

 

“You mean, she’s happier without you or something?”

 

“Oh no! No, no, no! She is happier now because she had the opportunity, the blessing to have raised a fine family, spent a lifetime with the man she loved and now gets to be young once again. Wouldn’t you want that for your wife? To see her happier than ever? It’s something you can do no doubt, you’re a good man and I see the way you two hold each other, it’s a true love for sure. Now you must let that love do what it will. Trust it and it will not do you wrong. That’s the only sacred thing, love, and your willingness to uphold that love until death and beyond.”

 

I looked at my father, he smiled at me cracked open another PBR and picked his guitar up. He began playing a tune he wrote when I and my brother were still in grade school.

 *****

“When you feel let down

Let your heart sing to you

It will show you the way

Keep your eyes wide open

Stay on the course and don’t stray.

 

But when you feel like ev’rything is falling around you

Remember you’ve got me

When it gets too dark, hold my hand

You’ll never go astray, with the love from me.”

 *****

We had a few more beers and laughs and before long the sun was going down. We hugged and said our farewells and all that. I started my car and drove off home, knowing that the only thing worth being sacred is love and there was plenty to go around.

Martyr

He tried so hard to be a role model for the other students in his class, but they were too busy dissecting frogs and paying attention to the teachers. The others thought him a moron for even believing in what he did. When he graduated to the 6^th grade he openly admitted that he was a hardcore Christian. Many times he would join a table in the lunch room, bible in hand, and berate the others for not bowing down to his great and powerful God. Now you can imagine what the others did to him after a while; Monday was a swirly, Tuesday he usually got a pretty good wedgie from Rick Thomas, Wednesday they left him alone because after Monday and Tuesday they didn’t feel like expending any more energy on him. Not many people liked being told they would fry in Hell if they didn’t repent and submit.

Now this went on through his schooling until his sophomore year in high school. He was used to being punched in the face and ridiculed by teachers and students alike, but he could take it no more. It was a Friday in November; the sun was out, the air smelled like dying trees and the neighbor’s cocker spaniel was happily shitting on old Mrs. Dugan’s roses. He grabbed a spade shovel and headed for the town cemetery. No one questioned him when he arrived as they were accustomed to him volunteering for all sorts of thing throughout town. He went to the very back, where the wood fences meet to make a 90 degree angle. He began to dig a hole, a proper grave hole. It took him 4 hours and when he was done it was dark, just as he’d expected. He prepared his things for departure.

It was 3 days before the towns people found the body of Rachird Burma. Most were very sad to learn of his fate and said many prayers for him. He was well loved by the people he helped, and those people where many. However there were a lot of people who despised him for being such a goody-good. It was really no reason to hate someone; he was just doing his part to spread kindness and love. His enemies defiled his grave, cursed his name, and did what they could to ensure people started to think ill of him. He did have people who watched over his resting place and cleaned up the trash around it. There was even a guard dog posted there after some weeks because it had gotten so bad.

Rachird had requested his note become public so all could read why he did what he did. It was posted in his church’s foyer for viewing and read as follows:

“My friends, family and enemies; you wonder why I have taken my own life and I shall explain in this letter. Friends and family, I did this so I may converse with the Almighty; so I may gather knowledge for my next life. I have left a great sum of money in my account that will be donated to the community. Use this for educating the children and feeding the hungry. Use this to house people in need and to let them bathe and keep warm. Spread love and kindness with this; do not use it for personal gain, please. I am happy to have spent my life helping those in need and those who would pay it forward or back, however they chose. Thank you all for your kindness and love let the warmth and light surround you always.

To my enemies: may you come to understand kindness and love before you depart from this world and I hope that your terrible deeds are forgiven. I pray that for every sour thing you do to someone, that someone delivers you a single rose. Soon you will see that kindness will overpower and you will find inner peace. You tortured me in life with your words and violence, I would ask why but I know you would only defile my name and my acts of kindness. I have never claimed to be a god or any sort of deity, only a man who wishes to see his fellow man prosper and smile, even on the rainiest of days.

So I ask of you as your friend, brother, enemy, and public servant, to please be kind to one another and practice patience. Do as our Lord instructed us to do and show love in all areas of our life. Your personal religion matters not, only that you accept and give love and a helping hand. One day you will know why I took my own life and you will be thankful for it. It may not impact the whole world, but if it helps to bring a community together then I have done what I set out to do.

-Rachird Burma”

Some years had passed since his death and people did what he asked. Everyone helped everyone, but some felt they were being sucked dry and the will to help was fading. Some people decided to take on more than they could handle, others did nothing at all. It was supposed to be a community effort. One winter morning while everyone was at church, Mrs. Lanisbury was out collecting her mail when she suddenly collapsed. No one was around to help except Rick Thomas.

********************

Rick Thomas was Rachird’s archenemy. He did everything in his power to reverse his good deeds. He had bullied him through his whole life and even in death. He was by most accounts, an evil person. Rick was suspected for all manner of crimes that happened in town; dogs found mutilated, homes destroyed, banks robbed, just a whole lot of bad things. He was even suspected to have killed Rachird, though he did not. He did do all those things, but the courts never had evidence and he had more power than anyone gave him credit for.

********************

When he was walking by and witnessed that Mrs. Lanisbury had collapsed, you wouldn’t have expected him to do anything but exacerbate the situation. Instead something came over him, some strange wash of light and warmth. He didn’t know what it was and didn’t even bother to contemplate what it could be. He dashed towards Mrs. Lanisbury and carried her to his car and drove her to the hospital. When he arrived he placed her in a wheelchair and yelled for assistance. The cops immediately cuffed him, thinking he was to blame for her being in the hospital. He was jailed without possibility to get out. This is what the townsfolk had been waiting for; evidence to jail up the monster.

Mrs. Lanisbury made a full recovery and everyone was pleased. The hospital staff discharged her and sent her on her way home. A deputy stopped her before she left the hospital, “Mrs. Lanisbury, did Rick Thomas cause your hospitalization?”

“Why no, he was the one who got me to help. Without him I would be a goner!” she laughed as she left the hospital leaving the deputy scratching his head.

“Mr. Thomas, you are free to go.” Said the cop in attendance.

“Thank you very much.”

“Just one thing before you go; we’ve been wondering why you had a sudden change of heart. The whole town was sure you had hurt Mrs. Lanisbury.”

Rick stopped walking, turned around and a very uncharacteristic smile formed on his face, and he told the officer, “I got to thinking that morning; the morning she collapsed, that maybe Rachird was right. Maybe I ought to be nice to people and not hurt anyone. I took her collapsing as a sign that I could repent and show some much needed kindness to someone. I suppose, if it’s ok with you guys, I make up for all my badness by doing community service, like Rachird did.”

The officers didn’t know what to say. They stood there with their eyes wide and jaws dropped, “Yea… yeah, I guess so.”

“Thank you, have a blessed day.” Rick said. He smiled big and walked out of the police department. The officers noticed something in his smile. His eyes had an odd twinkle in them; a twinkle they knew. It was as if Rachird was looking at them. Later that day the officer who was watching over him at the jail left for home. He pulled in his driveway but didn’t shut his car off yet and sat there thinking about what had happened; he was still confused about all of it. The officer pulled back out and drove to Rick Thomas’ house and parked in front. He walked around back and found out why the change happened. Rick Thomas’ back yard was a rose garden, overflowing with roses. It was incredible, and the officer knew then that kindness had, as Rachird’s suicide note said, prevailed.

A Lesson in the Tactics of Commercialism

Some people find it hard to believe that the level of consumerism in the United States has reached and all time low. By employing statistics found in recent studies, anyone can develop a sense of consciousnesses about the current state of market failure. The decline of the consumerist market in the lower 48 contiguous United States is showing a what experts call a “valley of savings”. Which basically means that a majority of people are saving rather than spending, and therefore are not stimulating the economy. It is also imperative to note that in a world-wide perspective, the U.S. is in the top 10 nations who’s economies are are on the rise. Taking that into account, what could this mean on a global level? It could mean one of several things; it could mean that other countries are in a mega slump or it could mean that a static waiver is in place.

Now this isn’t common knowledge, most consumers are blissfully unaware of these goings-on. While people go to work, raise children, get unashamedly drunk at college night, the experts are compiling datum to ensnare the consumer into spending all the saving they have worked to save in order to spend. A root cause of this notion of spending-savings loop is a law passed by none other than the late Herbert Hoover. While in office he elected to back a law enabling corporations to market to any group of person with a meager cash flow, such as poverty stricken people who’s income is barely enough to drink with.

You may be asking yourself, “Why is this allowed to happen? I should be able to work to save money so I can spend it on whatever I choose! I should not be subject to these atrocious marketing schemes!” Take the following into consideration before you go and empty your bank account: All marketing employees and lobbyists are out to engage in a war on your wallet and will do whatever it takes to get you to save as much as possible so they can, in time, empty your wallet of it’s contents by marketing products that have no relevance to your life and will only serve to create household clutter.

Taking that into consideration, one might expect themselves to remain calm in knowing that by the time a lobbyist marketing firm development agency can make a move for you cash flow, you will already be a rotting corpse. It is by this that we can know with confidence that our monies are safe in our means of saving and w can go on spending our hard earned money on things that are useful for maybe only a fraction of a month.  It is human nature to purchase an object and be excited about it for roughly 2-3 weeks, only then to be dulled by the same object and then find ourselves wishing we had not made such a frivolous purchase of that object. In my studies at Harvard and Cornell I have witnessed many a student come stumbling into my classroom after a raucous drunken night, still smelling of Captain Morgan and hooker sweat. When I reprimand these students, I make sure to let them know they are being take advantage of by the system when they go out and work and spend money at bars and clubs and throw money at stripping women/men thinking that yo-lo. I tell them this: “You should be spending ALL your money on this college course so one day you can look back and wish that you had spent all your money on hookers and cocaine and cheap beer, because your college degree will get you maybe close to your selected field of study but not nearly all the way there. You MUST work hard, study hard, regret hard or you will not die hard.” It is with this statement that I have helped to create a generation of mindless retards who know trigonometry like they know how to piss while drunk and not know how to live a life filled happyness and fulfillment.

“Save your money, spend your money. In the end it doesn’t even matter. You’ll just be food for the worms anyways.” -Mark Twain