Saturday, March 20, 2010

Doing Something

really need to do something with my life.

The joy ride is over. This is the end of the Matt Eckert you knew.

Here's some tasks I'm thinking about using to improve my life. Feel free to give them a shot yourself.

Genetically engineer a chili so spicy that you lose weight just by eating it.

So, I'm stoned and staring at the static on the TV when I think to myself "Man, I could lose some weight. Too bad I'm about to eat a whole quart of ice cream" when it dawns on me: what if you could make a food that was good and not only didn't make you gain weight, it made you lose it? Wouldn't that be incredible? So, I start thinking "What sounds like it would help you lose weight, with my limited knowledge of how metabolic processes work?" Then the answer comes to me: Chili. Spicy Chili. See, the spice would make you shit immediately; hence ridding your body of the food you just ate. But, not only that, it's so spicy that it melts the fat in your body as well. My first order of business must be to find a pepper so spicy that Charro's pussy would taste like a cucumber compared to it.

Write a sequel to The Autobiography of Malcolm X.

I'm finally to the part in this book where I've decided to kill my white-devil self when I think: what if Malcolm came back from the dead and proclaimed, ala Godfather, that it was really the Eskimos all along. Think about it, Malcolm is a Christ-like figure and what do Christ-like figures do when they die? They come back and haunt people. So, Malcolm comes back to the year 2012 with revelations about what he found in the afterlife.

"Brothers and sisters, I was wrong about our white sisters and brothers. It wasn't them that were the devils; it was the shiftless Eskimos. Tell me, who built those igloos they have? Huh? Who beat back blubber to make the lard for cooking? Who tamed the polar bear? Us. We made their land and through brainwashing and blubbering up history they lead us to believe it was the white man who enslaved us. Well, the chickens have come home to roost and I call on all nations to join me in destroying this grafted ilk of Yacub. We must fight!" My first step will be to pre-apologize to the Eskimos.

Start exercising other people.

Everyday I walk past fat, ugly people. Now, ignoring the fact that I'm pushing 210 and look like a bloated buffet refugee, I think it should be my job to get others to look better for me. It happens all the time, I'm walking along passed beautiful trees, birds, and antelope when all of a sudden some big fat person walks out from nowhere and wrecks the entire scene. Now, we all know that these heifers and heifims aren't doing shit about their repugnant appearances, so I say let's do something for them. What I propose to do is exercise these people for them. I'll hide in some bushes and wait for a fat person to come by. I live in America and fat people are as plentiful as pauses in a W. speech. Once I see the fat person I will grab them and start moving their limbs in exercising motions. Also, I will simply pull out a knife and chase them, thus making them jog. It's clear that I'm the new Oprah of weight loss. My first step will be to lose that extra 50 pounds I have so that I won't wheeze myself to death while chasing the blubber lords.

Weave something.

Well, this is kinda self-explanatory. My first step will be to figure out what weaving is.

Invent a new card game.

Another self-explainer. I'm thinking I get a deck of cards and have the suit and such underneath a small paper door in the card. That way, everyone gets blank cards and plays with them until the end of the game where you get to open your paper doors and see what kind of hand you have. My first step will be to make a bunch of small doors for cards. I'm thinking I'll need some very small children to help me.

Strap a time bomb to myself for motivation.

See, I get this time bomb from...that one guy in those "Spy vs. Spy" cartoons and I set it to blow up in five years. Then, I swallow it. I figure it will be too big to pass, so I'll have it with me for all five years. K, with that done, I'll absolutely have only five years to live. This will motivate me to do things like take up weaving. My first step will be to get a Cracked magazine for the address for that guy from "Spy vs. Spy." Also, figure out if the white or the black spy is more trustworthy. Wait, I'm reading Malcolm X, I know the answer to this.

Ask other people questions about their lives.

I see this all the time. People care about other people. Everywhere I go, when I see people together they talk and they ask about each other. I, having no feelings for anyone but myself, have never asked anyone about themselves; I just blather on about my life and all these funny things I think are funny. So, in a way to become more human, I will start asking people things like, "How's your day going?" or this gem, "How do you feel about (some subject)?" People ask me about my day all the time and it's about time I start (1) answering them. (2) asking them about themselves in kind. My first step will be to go up and ask some random person about their stupid, boring lives.

Write a romantic comedy about bestiality.

Unless you count all those chick flicks with a bunch of cows and their effeminate bitch boyfriends, there has never been a romantic comedy made about bestiality. Why not? Just because it's illegal and immoral that doesn't mean it doesn't happen. I'm thinking you have this woman who really, really, really likes her dog. Go from there, you know what happens next. But, it's like funny too, because they get in all these funny situations. Kinda like Meet the Parents. I can just see this woman bringing her dog to her parents house and the dog's all eating the furniture and stuff, but she loves the dog and the parents don't understand their love and they have to hide it, but keep getting caught making out. Oh, also, there'd be a shitload of "doggystyle" puns. My first step will be to call my ex-girlfriend and ask her what's it's like to be in love with an animal.

Start telling people I'm an astronaut.

Dude, people respect astronauts. Just look at Sigourney Weaver. That's why I think I could improve my image by telling people that I'm an astronaut. "Hey, how ya doing? P.S. I'm an astronaut." Or "Hey, you on the skateboard, that's a pretty sweet olly, but hey, I'm an astronaut." The chicks will be all over me and I might get hired by some tech firm that thinks I know how to operate a collosusgyratic impulse detector. My first step will be to watch The Right Stuff again. Wait, no, not worth it.

Start exercising, quit smoking and drinking, apply for a new job, seek some counseling, and get my shit together.

Yeah, right.



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