Competitive Leisure

In this dog-eat-dog, rat-racing world, there’s no time for not giving a shit. Let your blood pressure drop below 150/100 and you’re dead. There are people better than you. And you can’t afford to not do anything about it.

That’s why I’ve set out to finally lend the competitive edge to every aspect of our short and ever-unfulfilled lives. Do you enjoy canoeing with your loved one? Enjoy it harder! Develop your form, build your biceps, and enroll in the tournament circuit. If your insignificant other isn’t into it, lawyer up, divorce the sap, and hit the pottery studio. Fuck those pots up.

Then speed-date. Hard, fast. Date only 10s and only for 10 seconds. “But I want meaningful connections,” you gripe like a wuss. Shit yeah you do! Make the most meaningful connections. Make connections that make hydrogen fusion look like trying to catch a greased pig on the hottest July ever recorded. And the pig set the Guinness World Record for Greasiest Pig. Because that pig’s got its priorities straight. And so does that July.

Let me tell you something. Meditation will be an Olympic sport by the time your kids can qualify. Send them to an ashram now. The most expensive and heavily-regimented ashram you can find. Keep them there for their entire childhoods. “How will they manage the stress?” you ask, pouting like your face muscles are as lazy as your ass is. They’re champions, you schmuck! If they’re not stressed, they’re not doing it right. How’re they gonna reach Ultimate Truth slacking off all the time?

Do you even know who I am? I’m the guy who made playing frisbee a sport. Who introduced kite fighting to Afghani schoolchildren. Who won Big Kahuna at the Quicksilver Pro 2008 for surfing the internet. That’s who I am.

Three things drive me. Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness. It’s the American fucking way. Don’t half-ass it. Peruse Reader’s Digest till your eyes bleed. Have a picnic that rivals the Last Fucking Supper. Get some Bob Ross tapes and make Caspar David Friedrich’s work something only his mother would pin on her fridge. Enjoy yourself when you’re dead.