Sitting here at my mundane job, pretending to be busy, while looking at some of the sickest things ever to grace the internet, somehow I remain strangely unfulfilled. One would think that getting paid to see so much free porn that you start recognizing the crossover stars in so-called "reality porn" is the modern version of the American Dream, but I still have this nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach that life is supposed to have some sort of purpose. 

Or it could be the fact that I've been living off Taco Bell and tequila for the last three days, but whatever. I'm not a doctor, despite any claims I may have made on 7/27/02. Sorry for the reality check Lisa Jacobson, but since you're dumb enough to have fallen for a business card I had printed up on a whim an hour before I met your jugs, you probably still think of me as Dr. Teet Zandass, certified breast examiner working for the Spring Break division of the Panama City Police Department.

My underlying problem is that I have the yearning for satisfaction, both spiritually and fiscally, but between smoking myself retarded, scratching myself, and occasionally finding a woman lonely enough (i.e., drunk enough) to fool around with, I find myself with little time and energy left for hard work and dedication. And if you believe that, you can call me Dr. Zandass. The truth is I'm lazy, apathetic, and soon to be balding, not to mention broke and kind of an asshole.  I've always been that way; it just took a while to find the right bad habits to best fit my personality type. Uppers aren't really conducive to a Saturday afternoon whose only pre-planned activity is rolling one up and watching an Avatar marathon on Nick

The reality is that we are being bred for inactivity, training ourselves for the near future when we can drop this charade, admit how useless we really are, and allow technology to run our lives. My phone is already smarter than I am, and I'm convinced that my TiVo is trying to ostracize me from my friends by convincing them that my ideal television show is somewhere in between Oprah, Desperate Housewives, and Sex and the City. Since I never watch anything that doesn't have gratuitous use of sex, violence, Bender, or chrome, I think you can see that this box is clearly trying to steer me towards less conventional visual stimuli in a plot to desensitize me and rob me of my manhood. And yes, it does come pre-equipped with a magnifying glass to help it find Pedro (he's fierce but shy). 

But I stray. The point I think I was trying to make is that when everything around you seems to suck and all signs lead to things continuing to get worse well past your life expectancy, get yourself some primo herbage and some Zeppelin albums, stay social especially when you don't want to (my secret to the little sanity I still retain), and forget all about fortitude and perseverance.  That's for your 90-year-old grandma who could still bench more than you. Stick to slothfulness and the unearned judgment of others—that's our generation's legacy. And porn. Lots and lots of porn.