The Philosophy Of Gravy

All through my life I was told that the way to be happy was to struggle for success. But, success on my terms? Success by the terms of my parents? Success by the terms of my teachers? Or peers? Over time, success was finally laid down to me by society as a whole.

Success meant getting a well paid job that stressed my mind because ‘stress and hard work build character . . . a job you like will indulge the mind, and that’s where insanity starts’ which is really just a more elaborate way of stating the old adage ‘idle hands are the devil’s playground’.

Success also meant looking right – ‘dress for success’ they tell you, cut that hair, cover up those tattoos, get those teeth fixed, stand up straight, stick out your chin, suck in your gut.

Success also meant getting married to a girl from a ‘good family’, which is really code for $. You had damn well better make sure she looks like a melange of Jessica Simpson and Britney Spears (before the meltdown), though, if you want real success, and if she doesn’t quite yet, well that’s what God invented surgery for, right? Just don’t take any pictures of her in good light until the eyes have been widened, the lips puckered to look like a baboon’s asshole, the hair has been stripped and extensions have been implanted into the skull – work on the tits, ass, the works.

Once the girl is established, the next exit ramp to success is having at least two children, one boy and one girl. The boy is to become an extension of you, and the girl is to be the extension of whomever she marries. They had both better be attractive, so they can work in commercials as babies. Success starts early. If they aren’t attractive, keep popping them out, the odds will eventually be in your favour. A couple homely kids in the family photos aren’t an eyesore if two or three lookers even them out.

Success also meant getting into the right activities, such as golf, or, well . . . just golf I guess. Learn to play golf, get a good score, buy expensive (not well made) clubs and show them off in a large expensive bag which will be carried around by the son of someone who is NOT successful. Be contemptuous of him, his father didn’t work hard enough.

Success also means grasping onto some arbitrary religion, but not too tightly . . . zealots never achieve TRUE success. If someone asks you if you believe in God, the answer is yes, but if they ask you which god get the hell out of there, because that question means the conversation is sliding downhill into metaphysics, and philosophers are NOT successful. Go to church a couple times a year, and toss out a couple dollars to the collection plate when you do. Ask for a receipt.

Toward middle age begin carrying a pipe around, and practice clenching it in your teeth, but do not light. You’re too good looking to get mouth or lung cancer just to show how distinguished you are. Buy a small red sports car, and drive to the mall to pretend to pick up your kids. Look for a potential candidate for an affair. If you happen to see your children leaving the mall, drive away; walking builds character, and besides, your sports car can’t fit anyone but you.

Early retirement, a gold watch, and the inevitable move to Florida are the capping achievements of the successful life. Try to tan a lot, but not so much that you get wrinkles. Think of George Hamilton, use him as your guide. Make sure you leave a lot of money behind so people will always talk about how successful you were. Make sure they get you an obelisk as a headstone. Or, better yet, a tomb. That’s true success.

Everything else is just gravy.

My response?

Fuck you, and your expectations, bucko. I will name what success is to me, and that is having as good a time as is humanly possible, as often as is possible. Laughing and crying. Thinking about things beyond how to make the next buck, pursuing art and leisure, pondering metaphysics, eating well, smoking some grass, drinking some beer, giggling with someone I love, trying to help people as much as I can, reading books other than the ‘one everyone is talking about’ instead of watching hours of Survivor or Desperate Housewives.

I live for that gravy.

Hail Eris.

2 Responses to “The Philosophy Of Gravy”

  1. Oscypek Says:

    I really liked the part about asking for a receipt.

    Other than that, it’s true… all too true.

  2. Baron von Hoopla Says:

    I still reject it!

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