Friday, August 17, 2012

“Where to?”


he asked.

Yes indeed, like I had the foggiest notion of where my screwed up life was headed.

“How about to the river of happiness and contentment.”

“My prime directive does not allow me to transport mere mortals to that destination.”

“So, I’m screwed.”

“Only if you desire that choice.”

“Well, how do I get there?”

“Others cannot get you there. Only you can make it so.”

“You’re a man of riddles. I don’t know how to get there.”

“I have ascertained from our brief encounter that you surly know how to not get there. Just reverse the crime. Reverse the life of screw-ups you so enjoy—or as one of my ancestors stated long ago,

‘Get off your ass and go to work!’”


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