The Meaning of Life Du Jour
by “Citizen” John Shaw
illustration by David Coscia
My job, as well as yours, as a living, breathing, normally-functioning (with the exception of a large quantity of food additives) human being, is to get out of bed. Unfortunately, it’s not as easy a job as it sounds. There are a great many hindering factors involved, the first being that big, annoyingly bright thing out there known as “the Sun.” Personally, I DO NOT recall being consulted about that. Hey, I’m a taxpayer, damn it! The statute of limitations on that one is long overdue. I demand justice! Another factor: Self-admitted “morning people.” This subhuman race of creatures should be herded together and pushed off the face of the Earth. These creatures have the inborn (or inbred) ability to rise at an ungodly hour (for the non-religious reader, “ungodly” is Latin for “Before Noon”) and, get this – be happy! I believe the theory that ‘perky’ is the name of some evil parallel universe’s cult whose entire destiny in life involves annoying me. What I’m saying is that Kathie Lee Gifford should be made illegal.
As a normally-functioning human being fulfilling a normal, human, and completely non-mutated destiny, my daily planner reads as follows:
1. Wake up and get out of bed (I think that tackling the toughest problems first is best).
2. Go outside, smoke cigarettes.
3. Think, or imitate people who actually do.
4. Achieve world peace or go back to bed (whichever involves less motion).
My long-term goal is to cut this rigorous work ethic down by forcing my parents to move out so that numbers two through four can be performed completely prone, thus eliminating the second step of number one.
I, like most mercenary philosophers, at one time attached far more complex and lofty pursuits to the meaning of life. I mention this because just this week, “they” (you remember “they,” don’t you? They’re a subsidiary of C.H.A.O.S. from Get Smart!) opened a Jehovah’s Witness center at the end of my street. This bit is no B.S. Their whole existence is based entirely on the downfall of mankind. Whereas when it comes (and boy, are they into pointing out exactly how it will happen), only 5,000 will be “chosen” to be saved. Apparently, someone at the Jehovah factory accidentally left the machine running, and now, upon last count, there’re about 14 billion of them grazing in my neighborhood. It took three cans of Raid, a barrage of blasphemies, and several swings of Mom’s bingo bag (yet another mysterious pagan cult) to save myself from a near-fatal drive-by conversion, all the while attempting to perform #2 from my list. They’re far too well dressed for me to even consider being one of the “chosen.” Can you imagine spending eternity with 4,999 clones of Pat Boone? D. Boone, perhaps; watching cartoons, maybe as long as whatever higher power is out there has “the Tick” on laser disc; or anyone named Miss June – yes, I’m your convert. (The preceding list took an extremely excruciating 23.9541 seconds to compile. Thank you.)
What I’m trying to say here, is that the meaning of life has nothing to do with religion, success, power, wealth, beating a sixth grader at Mortal Kombat, figuring out the lyrics to “Louie Louie,” or anything you foolishly consider important. No, friends, all you need to know is that all your job involves is waking up. If you can understand that, then your halfway to realizing that it is I who commands you, I you should worship, my laundry you should be doing, etc.
If anyone calls, I left no forwarding address.
