Let’s Face It, We’re Fucked.

As we traipse through this bizarre experience we call life, we like to think that we are masters of our destiny. We tie our own shoes, thank you very much. We make our own decisions and know what’s in our best interests. Our choices have, in effect, molded the life we have today.

…or so we’d like to believe. Then I hear this stuff and I realize we’re just the latest version of The Sims that God just got in the mail, and he’s laughing his ass off.

Take this guy Tim. Admittedly, he’s a pretty complacent dude. He’s been dating the same girl for almost five years and doesn’t think he’s even attracted to her anymore. But he also hates drama. His buddies, his family, hell, even his grandmother can see he’s unhappy. They corner him at the family barbeque and tell him to dump her. Emboldened by MGD and their support, he agrees. He’ll do it tonight. He makes the call and asks her to meet him later. Then he decides to have a celebratory burger and another MGD.

No one knows what was wrong with the burger, perhaps an errant strain of mad cow, ecoli or just crappy old meat, but Tim got sicker than he’s ever been in his life. He was shooting out of both barrels, sweating, shaking, the works. And this all kicked in right when he met up with his girlfriend. She ran him to the hospital, sat in the waiting room while he got his stomach pumped, then stayed by his bedside for days afterwards, nursing him back to health. Tim, delirious from food poisoning and waves of guilt, asked her to marry him. She said yes. The rest, as they say, is history.

Another quickie example of God’s gleeful kick in the pants: a friend of mine had a very tumultuous relationship with her ex. She finally managed to break up with him and kicked him out. She was moving on with her life, and we all applauded. She told him to come over Saturday morning to pick up the rest of his stuff. He agreed.

Saturday morning she woke up with the urgent reminder that she’d had an ultimate bean and cheese burrito the night before. After a good 20 minutes in the can, she remembered her ex was coming over and now it smelt like a large mammal had died several days ago. She hurriedly lit every candle in the house and got undressed to take a shower. The doorbell rang. She grabbed her robe and answered it. Her ex, standing at the door, sees all the candles lit and my friend in her skimpy robe. He thinks, right on. She wants me back. He grabs her and kisses her. My friend loses all sense of reason as he sucks her earlobe and they have crazy monkey sex. So now they’re back together, and she’s as miserable as ever.

What’s the moral of the story? Hell if I know. If I were you, I’d just stay away from any perishable food items if you’re planning on making any major life decisions.

1 Comment

  1. Alexandra

    July 5, 2012 at 11:59 am

    Hahaha I LOVE a story with no moral ending. Awesome stories though, made me chuckle at my office desk.

    http://myfroley.blogspot.com

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