You know how the old saying goes “You can manifest a political doctrine, but you can’t manifest your own destiny” No? Well, I have and I have found it to be universally, and by that I mean harshly accurate. Sitting down and writing a manifesto is easy. Throw in some superiority, some vague threats regarding Asia, and an over arching theme about how we are all like squirrels but need to live more like squirrels, and you have yourself a party. The hard part, however, is making that manifesto manifest itself-o into something more-o. Without any dedicated followers, be they highly medicated or not, you’d just look silly- what with all the climbing trees, running from dogs, and hoarding nuts that said doctrine dictates. Have mass numbers driven into a nut-collecting frenzy right alongside you? That is pure bliss. That might even be destiny if you’re so lucky. But what is more likely is that your squirrel-ifesto isn’t all you think it’s cracked (get it?) up to be, and instead of frenzy the best that can be expected is mild malaise. What to do then? The writing it down was the easy part. Shouting from the tree-tops will only get you so far. What to do next?
You’ve put in your time. You wrote it all down, and expected great things. Hell, you even went out and had all those party-buttons made to commemorate the event. But nothing happened, nothing caught on, and you made the slightest fool of yourself. You’ve exhausted real energy, and more than a fair share of your mental energy and capacity into bringing this far-flung dream into being. But it didn’t work. It hasn’t worked. It probably won’t ever work. And that’s okay. You had your fun. Dreaming of a plush squirrely-tailed world got you through some hard times, but it’s time to face facts. Embrace reality. Swallow the bitter tasting pill that is defeat, and let it, like cyanide to a political extremist, kill that little still-believing part of you with frothy spit, and violent tremors. In essence: give up.
It’s about taking your pants off at the door
The world is a weary making place, and when you’ve finally given up the goat, and more importantly given up on you dreams (who holds on to goats anyways?) pants will feel really uncomfortable. Seriously. If they have anything resembling a structured seam, a flattering fit, or are made of material heavier than the stuff your underwear is made of they’ll feel like lead and razor blades. Even if you favor wearing sweat pants, once your dreams have shattered into a thousand pieces of jagged sharp glass, slipping through your fingers cutting you deeply, even these poor excuses for leg coverings will make you feel incredibly uncomfortable. The elastic will mark your skin, and the excess fabric on your legs will weight down your futile kicks (that goes along with the crying) all the harder. Really, what you don’t need is anything that makes your life harder. Pants make your life harder. There are seams and pockets. Pockets for holding money. Money you were once going to make by selling party memberships to people you had thought of calling something cool like “Nut Buddies” or “Big–tailed Heros” or you know, other ideas that you thought of that sounded less gay. The point is that the money isn’t coming and pockets, and the pants they are attached to are just reminders of that. Take them off. Forget them. Burn them. It will heal the speeding process or something along those lines.
Drown out the voices in your head
Hell, suffocate any thought. If you are skilled at it, I would recommend shutting down any higher brain function all together. Close off all parts of your brain that control things other than chewing (we’ll get to that later) I find watching hour upon hour of television can really dull the ol’ neuro-receptors in your head that say things like “keep trying” and “isn’t a whole pizza a lot for just one person?” These thoughts are what I like to call “mind traps!” or as the rest of the world refers to them: “the voice of reason.” So, like I imagine some famous historical person who I am too lazy to think of once said after an orgy gone wrong, and the disposing of the prostitutes commenced, I advise you to also “shut it down.” Life is liberating when you are simply focused on the task at hand; which is invariably watching endless amounts of reality television and then going online and reading spoilers and internet comments. On this plane of existence life is as it should be: rude, angry, and incredibly sexually perverse.
Count those calories as they go whizzing by!
When you don’t have dreams, you might as well eat well. That is the mentality shared by both the 1,000-pound man and me. Everything tastes better with the secret ingredients of sadness and self-loathing. It’s like you can’t get enough! So what if you had a whole turkey for lunch, you’re not going anywhere in life, so you might as well have 12 cheeseburgers for supper. If your stomach explodes, you’ll be at least be feeling something. Which is better than the crippling and endless emptiness you feel otherwise. So have your cake and eat it too. Hey, buy three cakes! Eat one, have one, and rub the other one all over your naked body for all I care. If food in any form can provide you with comfort and joy I say take advantage of it. Should you be spared the intense happiness that realizing you dreams provides, you should be able to experience the orgasmic sensation that accompanies shoving a whole pie down your gullet. If it’s true that you only live once, you should spend your time eating whatever you want because let’s face it, you really blew it. Let “Waist lines be damned!” be your battled cry, and the thumping of your overworked heart your war drum. Break conventions of popular body imagine, and in the process, many spindly chairs.
Make excuses, not war
Inevitably, someone in your social circle or maybe even a representative from a government agency, or psychiatric facility will challenge you on your new lifestyle. They will use words like “lazy” “depressed” or “Please, don’t cry on me again” in an attempt to shake you from your necessary new mindset. They will try and tell you that everything will be all right. Maybe they’ll pick up the old manuscript for your utopian society (complete with colour drawings) and tell you that it is really good, and no matter what you say they still believe in you. I don’t mean to frighten you, dear reader, but they are liars. They have probably taken a life insurance policy out on you, or somehow wrangled power of attorney and hope once you inevitably step mindlessly in front of a bus, or are finally committed they can have your unemployment cheques and McDonald’s coupons all to themselves. Run! If you have followed my advice regarding food intake this will be impossible. And in this case you must rely on your silver tongue, once intended to charm audiences at “Rodent Rally’s” to lie your gargantuan ass off. Make up excuses to explain your situation that will simultaneously reassure them that you are neither a harm to yourself or others, and make them aware that if they were to come after you you would gut them like a fish. Personally I like the old adage “I’ve got some things in the pipeline” which makes the idiot think that you actually have something on the go, and subtly reminds them you have access to pipe. Pipe you can use to beat them. Other favorite excuses are:
“My ant farm broke, that’s why my apartment is teaming with ants” (to explain the ant problem that accompanies your crumb problem which goes hand–in-hand with your over-eating)
“I’m taking some ‘me time’.”
“I’m exploring other avenues.”
“I think I’ll go into teaching.”
After mastering these simple steps giving up will come naturally.