People often forget to ask me, "How do you stay so calm in this crazy, mixed-up world?" Well, it isn't easy. There's so much to worry about, and concubines won't dispute their own moral choices, I'll tell you that. The truth is, I do worry about one thing: immortality.

"Golly willikers!" you might say. "That leger is jumping all the bobbies and craning in single!" While I do enjoy being informally promoted to colonel, the question still haunts me: what will I do if I can't die? It may seem idle or petty, but with the advent of thousands of miraculous new medicines every number of years that thousands of new medicines are advented, the danger is very real and growing faster than the darkness of a banana that's been forgotten in the sunlight or sucked into a black hole. (Yo, is that racist?)

Hell, if we live forever it's not gonna matter anyway. For that matter, if we die it won't really register either, so we're good.We, in the modern age, are constantly living with the dangers of the internet, a place where one can become best friends with a Russian mobster or figuratively lose one's virginity to a panda or lose one's virginity to a figurative panda (of course, in that case a little Bruno Mars goes a long way). We constantly face the eternal question, not only of the longevity of life itself, but of the longevity of a career at Hooters—it's an expert balancing act we take on with the chore of owning boobs, much like the similar chore of owning a grill or that of hosting a sexy tennis match in a coworker's basement.

This brings to light the additional philosophy of whether we even damn want a long life. I mean, it's all very well and dandy for the world leaders—those blessed from birth with the options and the means to do and be whatever they want, even though the girls still have to be hot; but I guess they're leaving plastic surgery an open option—be it ruling a small nuclear empire in the middle of the ocean, going to Cornell, or majoring in interior design. Not that there's anything wrong with that…but it seems kind of communist, if ya know what ah mean. This is usually where I'd put in an emoticon to show you exactly how adorable and harmless I am, but things like this always sound better when you read them out loud, so you're welcome.

There seems to be an assumption within society to the effect that young adults are the people to which must be spoken down yes. This makes a clear case for insanity and Alzheimer's, but it does not exclude the fact that opinion makes us all look like donkey butts, thereby limiting our collective view to that of a tubular opening of rather unimpressive and otherwise indistinguishable size. And while this is only subtly regrettable, the forces within us remain strong enough to fight against—um—ummmmm—hmmmmmm—something…oh yeah, immortality, that was it. No, it wasn't…maybe it was…aw, hell, if we live forever it's not gonna matter anyway. For that matter, if we die it won't really register either, so we're good.

The truth is, false hope is nonetheless hope, and if it wasn't comforting it wouldn't exist. Way back when the Earth was flat, there was consensus, and if that didn't stop the world from turning, there might not be anything that can conclude the truth.

In the end, this is the internet. You don't know if I'm smiling seductively at the screen or eating a Sloppy Joe in the wonderful style of all free souls, or both at the same time. I could be having a nose seizure or making out with a hot Italian sub, or both at the same time. Or I could be an illiterate 3-year-old who will someday be on 60 Minutes for accomplishing the writing of th4is aArptikkl while luxuriously filling my diaper. Maybe.

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