An Important Life lesson from a loser

Lesson number 1: Hard work is for losers. At least until you have kids.

I just realized how some people are susceptible to confusing “success” with “how to attain success.” You probably know by now that I am not a big fan of hard work and I can’t be farther away from being a model of professional efficiency; in fact, I’m not the type of guy who’s willing to work 12 hours a day until I’m 40 so I can retire in a house in Baguio because really, how fun is that compared to spending 40% of your gross income on intoxicants and paying for as much sex as you can have as the law would allow you to?

But even with all my rhetoric, I can pretty much say that sooner or later, I will have to work harder. Yes harder and not hard because I am working hard. It’s just that I’m obsessed with producing the same quality of work while maintaining a high quality life. (And by high quality work, I mean “Spending three hours a day surfing random sites on Stumbleupon, two more hours making personal phone calls and roughly an hour playing CounterStrike.”)

I mean it’s fine that I can wing and bullshit my way around work most of the time, but this is not college. In college, I’d like to think that I had the most awesome grades-to-study-hours ratio in my batch. After all, if you could get 3′s on most subjects and get plastered almost everyday and do only the minimal amount of studying required, can’t you say that you were much better than the nerd who gets 1.5′s across the board who spends more than 9 hours a day studying and spends an additional 2 hours in the library after class? (And really come on, why do you have to constantly reread stuff? You could teach a dog to play a guitar through constant repetition; if you have to read some stupid business book over 5 times and nothing’s sinking in, don’t you think it’s better to just give up and drink with your friends or go out and cheat on your girlfriend or something?)

The thing is, I will need to work harder, get a promotion and maybe a nice salary increase because I can see myself having kids in the not so distant future. (legitimate or illegitimate. Most probably illegitimate though.) Now, because God hates me I am sure that my kids will be quite an interesting batch:

One’s going to be this band groupie who’s into drugs:

Me: Melissa, it’s 4am, you told me you’d be home before midnight. Where have you been?
Future Daughter: [Swaying back and forth, fucked up and reeking of cheap liquor] Dad, there is this newfangled thing called ‘lying’ you know.
Me: What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
Future Daughter: I don’t know. But you know who knows? The Baphomet. The Baphomet knows all.
Me: Jesus Christ…
Future Daughter: [singing] Nrsingadeva Jaya Nrsingadeva!
Me: God, I hate your mother.

One’s going to be severely retarded:

Me: Hey Miguel, guess what dad got you for your birthday!
Future Son: Sneakers!
Me: No no no Miguel! I got you a nice bike! [shows bike]
Future Son: Sneakers!
Me: No son, this is called a bike and these [points at shoes] are sneakers.
Future Son: Sneakers!
Me: No Miguel–Hey what are you doing?! How many times do I have to tell you you can’t eat lotion?
Future Son: [with lotion all over his fucking face] SN-EA-KERS!
Me: God, I hate your mother.

So there. Sometimes I wish I was a total douchebag who couldn’t care less about what will happen to his future kids, but I’m not. And from the looks of things, I will need a lot of money to bail my future daughter out of jail numerous times(or at least get her all the drugs she needs) and to send my future son to special ed.

I hate my life.

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