Shakespeare Sucks

The works of Shakespeare, Frank Bacon, or whomever wrote those nightmares we were forced to read in high school, are as entertaining as a PBS Special on fungus. Yet, we're informed these literary sleep aids are timeless classics.

Citizen Kane is one of the most boring movies ever. It's about a guy with a fetish for an inanimate object, for fuck's sake!

What's so wonderful about the Mona Lisa? I'd rather jack-off to a velvet painting of a nude chick any day.

I'll take a damned Datsun that runs, as opposed to a Lamborghini that doesn't.

People believe in the most ludicrous shit.

Abraham Lincoln was an overt racist who demanded genocide. Yet parents still force their kids to attend school, in order to be brainwashed the 16th president of the "U.S." was a wonderful person, who sought equality for everyone.

Mother Teresa — the best Catholicism has to offer — was a charlatan, herself a nonbeliever, and a mass murderer. Yet we're told this cunt was a living saint.

Not one historian existing during the time Jesus Christ purportedly walked the Earth wrote so much as a word about JC. We're talkin' a blonde-haired, blue-eyed, white male, living among dark-haired, dark-skinned people. A man who rose from the grave, healed the infirm with his touch, enabled the blind to see, walked on water, turned water into wine, etc., etc., etc.

Simple logic dictates someone possessing those attributes would be the subject of every bestseller of the day. Even though he wasn't, 2.2 billion people still profess belief in a personage who obviously didn't exist, or was nothing like fallacious history has taught us.

Doctors refuse medical care to countless folk lacking sufficient insurance. When these afflicted people perish as a result, said physicians continue right on "practicing," even though they're now murderers.

Judicious businessmen pay $200 for a strip of fabric — known as a tie — they wrap around their necks, in noose fashion, so they can be uncomfortable at a "job" they detest. These money moguls spend $500 on a shirt, simply for the brand label — affixed beneath the collar, where nobody can see it.

"You are not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your fucking khakis [...]."

— Fight Club

World hunger? When was the last time you saw the World — a globe in space — starving?

World peace? Was I asleep when Earth began battling other celestial bodies?

Folks continually do and say things that don't make sense.

Support the troops? Wouldn't the best way to support them be to bring them home, as opposed to placing some stupid bumper sticker on your $100,000 Cadillac?

Full of piss and vinegar? If anyone was brimming with the above substances, they'd be dead, as opposed to sassy and vibrant.

Think about what you're doing. You get married, due to the fear of being alone. Whilst betrothed, you're frequently more isolated than by yourself.

As such, you drool over pixelated porn princesses prone on your laptop, while avoiding your significant other at all costs.

In order to right the ship, you end your existence by having a child. When you realize raising a kid has murdered your dreams and goals, you resolve the problem by, of course, producing more offspring. You despise your being, due to having progeny, so the best solution is to create another bald, drooling idiot who can't wipe his or her own ass?

Why would you follow a group of morons who can't think for themselves? Why live by the tenets of an inherently screwed-up society?

If you don't already possess a pair, cultivate some huevos. Dump the false ideals forced upon you by a population filled with delusional lunatics. Make your mark. Help some folks in the process.

To approach your time here in any other fashion is to attach the cement shoes, and plunge feet first into an ocean of regret.

Wake up! In the words of Tyler Durden, "This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time."

— Fight Club

Live. Don't subsist.

Instant pariah, just add logic. Most who read these words will denounce them outwardly, whilst tossing and turning over them at night.

Trash your television. Boycott spurious ideals. Refuse to allow money, politics, or religion to incarcerate you. It's highly plausible we get one go 'round on this circus ride. Lock that fucker on full throttle, and set fire to the brakes.

We're all capable of whatever we can envision. Bookmark my jizz-stained, bourbon-blotched articles, and refer to 'em, whenever you consider squandering your existence perusing O magazine in the check out line.

Who am I? Just some slovenly swinger...with thousands of tallies on his tumescence, and a memory bank bursting with live porn.

When it comes to money — worthless pieces of paper — I'm indigent. Such stated, I'm one of the richest people on the planet, whenever I tap into my recollections.

Good luck obtaining a Ph.D. in group sex, though. You'll never find an orgy certificate hanging on the wall at your dentist's office. An official wife-swappin' ID wouldn't even get you a free drink at a two-for-one happy hour.

Should you actively pursue as many jizz jamborees as you can stomach, realize you're not in this arena for the prestige. There isn't any.

Even so, your best day at "work" will never eclipse the worst sex you've had. You won't remember saving $5 on lunch meat, but can't forget the group grinding you experienced with a crazy Chiquita, and her crochet club.

The choice is yours. Either get as close as you can to living, or succumb to a system designed to enslave, and eventually destroy, you.

— authored by Hugh Mungus