Friday,September 09th, 2005
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Choose Your Own Adventure books were the greatest thing to grace the Earth since Jesus Christ died and gave us a day off at school. The premise of Choose Your Own Adventure books were that you, the reader, could make your own decisions that would affect the course of the plot. Of course every choice lead to death, but there was always maybe one happy ending, and maybe four or five pretty-shitty-but-at-least-I'm-not-dead endings. For example, you fall off an airplane, and on the way down, you get hit by another airplane. Your legs and arms and lower torso are torn off of your body, but you are still conscious, for the time being anyways. And for some reason, all of these endings were the result of either completely obvious or completely arbitrary decisions. For example, you may be given the choice between shooting yourself in the head or saving the world by shooting the oncoming alien invaders, but on the other hand you might also be given the choice to pick up a plunger, only to have it revealed in the next page that the plunger was actually a nuke disguised as a rocket, which had the unfortunate fate of having a red cup on the end to make it look like a plunger, which it was not as denoted by the blast that killed 90% of the world's population. And as if is global destruction wasn't enough, the book shits a giant, boldfaced, italicized, and underlined "THE END" to emphasize the finality of your fuckup. Which really wasn't final at all, since everybody cheated and used their fingers as bookmarks. But fingers didn't save Jesus from having nails exploded into his hands, and they certainly didn't save Dumbledore from being killed by Snape in that Harry Potter book I didn't read because I have friends. Fingers are used for being middle at people you hate, not turning back time. Because in life, your fuckups are permanent, kind of like a permanent marker, except even moreso because permanent markers wash off sometimes. Imagine God made the perfect permanent marker, and even that wouldn't be permanent enough to describe how permanent your fuckups are. And that's what makes the idea of time travel so appealing. The fact that you can punch a random guy in the face and just go back in time and it's as if nothing ever happened. And the fact that you can do it over and over and over, until you get tired of punching faces and move onto something worse, like picking your nose in public. But the fact that I'm sitting here, typing all of this bullshit is just proof that I'll never ever invent a time machine in my lifetime. I know this because I know that if I ever were to invent a time machine, I would use it to go back in time and abort myself, so that I wouldn't have to deal with life and all of the stupid people that come along with it. But like I said, the fact that I'm sitting here typing this, instead of being a dead fetus aborted by my future self just proves the fact that I'll never ever invent a time machine. Fuck you, brain. |
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