There. Now that all you Type-A types are paying attention, I'd like to spread some of my no-can-do attitude, really bring it down a notch. And you're going to like it! Because if you don't make it to the end of this blog, you officially LOSE at reading. I'm timing you.

I am not a competitor. It's probably a bad thing, seeing as how I participate in very competitive fields of endeavor: stand-up comedy, filmmaking, fame-hunger. It would behoove me to go all alpha male on people's asses and treat the world, metaphorically, like a giant basketball. That is, make with the slamming dunk of that rock through Saturn's rings, cigarette dangling from my lip, and go hit on Pluto. Yeah, she's too little to be a planet, but her orbit takes 248 Earth years. Totally legal. She gets around.

I merely do not find competition to be that great of a motivator. More often than not, I feel discouraged rather than empowered, yet others thrive on it. It's a lose-lose situation. Wow Roscoe, you are the better bowler. I'm glad I wagered my self-esteem on ball-rolling, a game as arbitrary as it is pointless. Or the best case scenario: Hey, I won at badminton. Guess I'll go grab a juice box.

What I'm saying is I'd rather enjoy things for their own sake.

"That's why you'll never be a winner." Hey wise guy, you're not going to be "First!" in the comments if you stop to heckle me.

I'm not saying you shouldn't strive to achieve, but put down the Gatorade for a second. There's a difference between rapier wit and yo momma jokes. Between landing on the moon and stockpiling nukes. Between a communications degree and an MBA. One is an achievement whereas the other leaves the wall, the floor, and pretty much everything except the urinal covered in piss.

I'm more of a smooth sailing type of guy. I get off on being the best. Natural talent all the way! "But Mike, you're going to have to put in a little effort." What do I look like, a cheater? Getting ahead through hard work and determination? Yeah right, I have way too much integrity for that. And I'm not alone. We, The Echo Generation, have some serious entitlement issues. Take your 1950's sensibility and shove it. You call that the American Dream? Sounds like a nightmare. If you need me, I'll be over here following my own dreams thank you, which involve a lot more Boba Fett and a lot less women in clothing. It's not even noon yet. What's the rush? Take a chill pill. Specifically, Ambien.

A little pop quiz for all you wall street, Italian leather, go-getter, headhunter, hair-gel hustlers: Would you rather spend 9 years in school to land that 80-hour workweek internship, tossing the pigskin with the big-wigs who put out their cigars on your face, all the while dangling their forbidden fruit of a daughter as a carrot for their favorite mail room workhorse… OR hit the Powerball and never have to do… anything. Ever. Look at that loser, sitting at home all day humping his money sack. Get a job!

There is a point where ambition becomes a negative. Remember Icarus? Only your "wings" aren't going to melt. You'll keep soaring and soaring. Until one day you're an old bald eagle with a nest-egg, and a shallow wife that won't stop squawking at you. All you want is to bring home the meat in a nice, tight, new place to roost. Oh you're free alright. Until you realize you don't get to roam those star-spangled skies, you HAVE to. And you have a sneaking suspicion that the young stud carrier pigeon is swooping in on your catch, bringing in more than just the mail. Talk about raw and talon-ted.

I'll leave you with an inspirational message from a good friend of mine Ms. Crow. "It's not getting what you want, it's wanting what you got" Sing it, Sheryl. That's what I'm talking about, taking it easy, nothing to fight over, just livin'. Soak up the sun, bitches.

"OMG my tan looks way better than Becky's."

God Dammit, you people!