The Beauty of Life

By Wil C. Fry, March 18, 2000, 01:20

Copyright 2000 by Wil C. Fry. All rights reserved.

I’ve had one adventure after another and they all left me breathless and I’ll remember those thrills as long as I live, like the time I slid the VW Bug on the ice and we crossed the highway median, passing through the lanes of traffic going the other direction or the time I woke up at the wheel and saw a toll booth in my rear view mirror — that was wild, but not as wild as when I raced my Monte Carlo against that puny little Mustang and left him in the dust and then my heater hose blew and I was going a hundred and twenty miles per hour with a thick cloud of fog coming out from under the hood completely blinding me, and speaking of “blind”, how many times have I fallen for some chick just because she paid attention to me, when all she really wanted was some crack or new clothes or a roll in the hay and then I was left hurting and writing angry or sad poems in my room all alone and by myself with no one else around, thinking of just what it was that I did wrong, and the only lasting effect of any of that was that now I’m just as bad as they were, using women for my own sinful ends and then leaving them to mend themselves by themselves, and I end up feeling guilty about how I’ve treated them and I wonder if they’re going to end up just like me: bitter, jealous, hiding the hurt that I let happen to myself, and eating tasteless meals out of the containers they came in because you’re just too tired of life to fix anything better and I stare at the television at four in the morning because I’m too tired to turn it off and get in bed or maybe I’m hoping that God will speak to me through the electromagnetic rays that emanate from it, soaking my eyes and brain with filth that I’ve seen so many times before, mostly in my own life, so you could say that art is imitating life, not the other way around, like all those fanatic, right-wing, Nazi, sin-hating, devil-chasing conservative Christians want to claim, because it makes them feel so f***ing powerful when they get to censor a show or movie or song or radio station, when all of those media are just trying to give us the entertainment that we’re willing to pay big bucks for, because it gives us a thrill to know that famous people feel the same things we do, or because some of us never get to do ANYTHING, so we have to pay to watch someone else do it, of say it, or talk about it, but that’s just the way the world is and I wish those faggot Christians would just leave us all alone sometimes, but then at other times, we really like them, like when Mother Theresa spent her whole God damned life in India with the helpless and hurting or when Martin Luther King Jr. fought for equal rights, or when Billy Graham has another Crusade and spends millions of tithers’ dollars to put the freakin’ thing on TV, or when the mission downtown gives that ugly, stinking, worthless homeless guy a bowl of soup — yeah, then and only then do we really start to appreciate what the f***ing Christians are doing, but somehow they always get back on their powertrips with their s***-eating grins and point their fingers and say I’m going to hell because I screwed a married woman or got a blowjob from a chick I’d just met, or because I think it’s cool when a woman gets her nipples sucked by another woman and then they eat each other’s p***ies, even though I shouldn’t get too excited by it, since every time a woman turns lesbian that means there’s one less chick on the market for me, so I guess I should just hope that they turn bisexual so that way, I’d get some of that p**sy too, but either way, I'm still in trouble, especially when I fantasize about doing twin sisters or mother-and-daughter or something like that, since the BIBLE says it’s wrong and so I’ll burn in hell for having fun and getting my rocks off to something that I really enjoy even though it was “God” who gave me these horrendous desires that plague me, like the desire to smoke cigarettes because it calms my system down and mellows me out, but they tell us that smoking will kill us in the end, and drinking will kill us in the end, and sex — especially indiscriminate, unprotected sex (the best kind) will kill us in the end, and using cell phones will give us cancer and getting breast implants will give us cancer and jacking off will make us go blind and driving fast without a seat belt can kill you and not getting enough sleep will kill you, besides the scary facts that shooting yourself in the eyeball with a bazooka will probably kill you and chopping off your left arm will give you a good chance of bleeding to death, swallowing a gallon of Drano will make you slightly sick, taking a nap on the expressway could cause serious bruising, jumping from a tall building can cause shortness of breath, and soaking yourself in gasoline while holding a lit Zippo can cause a burning fever, but all of these pale in comparison to the fact that even the best life can really suck at times, and then you’re all going to die.

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