My Sick Sad Why

My, primary "Why" for getting out of bed probably isn't much different than the "Whys" of most my fellow Americans. I am in debt, lots of debt. In fact, every time the bills become due I feel like someone shoved a dildo coated in sandpaper, wrapped in razor wire, and dipped in battery acid up my posterior sans lube or a kiss. So, I drag my arse out of bed and trudge my permanently raw and chapped ass to work.

Other than debt, I admit I possess a morbid sort of curiosity which is regularly fed by the absurdly painful syphilis infected monkey hauling trainwreck that is the human race. I can't help myself. I am too invested in watching what stupid shit us hairless monkeys (some also syphilis infected) may do this time.

For example, for thousands of years we have been trying to get what we want by way of war. The reasons for the war may vary, but in the end the ant dick sized political, financial, religious, or geopolitical gains are almost never worth the losses in life and resources. The only exceptions of note being the Civil War, the Sexual Revolution, and the never ending battle between the Coyote and Road Runner. Think about it. Even an inbred hamster will stop going for the electrified food bowl after it has been zapped a couple of times. Not us, nope. We keep thinking war will get us what we want no matter how many times we experience the same electrifyingly painful consequences as they set fire to our pubes on their way to frying our collective daddy and mommy parts. I can see the wheels turning in our world leader's wee whittle bwains as they are reminded how history has proven that war almost never gets the victor what they really want. Of course, the politicians may nod solemnly, but when the cameras are turned off they almost always say, "What the hell, lets see what happens after the nuclear winter, we'll sort shit out then." Of course, they're assuming anyone will be left on this cold cinder of a planet to even give a fuck. It's equally tragic and riveting, but still, I can't stop watching.

I've heard it argued that our artistic creativity is enough to redeem us. It may have been, but as I watch what the various forms of classify as, "Art" or "Culture" these days I have to laugh. Where once we had Davinci, Beethoven, and Shakespeare we now have Justin Beiber, Taylor Swift, and whatever hacks wrote the Twilight, Fifty Shades, and Harry Plopper (not a typo) series. If these are our artistic saving graces we are so fucked. Still, I watch on for the same reason some people will pay to watch a sword swallower. I subconsciously want to see things go wrong.

Aside for my need to pay the bills, the reason why I get out of bed in the morning is to watch Darwin's theory about humanity be proven wrong. Darwin optimistically assumed human evolution would always tend towards progress. If the 21st century is any indication, human evolution has backed over a fire hydrant, plowed through a litter of puppies, and ran over grandma. Sorry Charlie, we've backed up almost to where we can bump uglies again with our Niedenthal cousins.