Immortality runs out this morning. I am in the mirror with some crows feet. Nothing major. But if my face were a shirt I would iron it. So it begins. White people go off the cliff before everyone else. That’s the deal, in exchange for being masters and emperors and not getting shot at very often.
I am in the office. My co-worker at the next desk says nothing all day. The clock gears wind the tension in the room forever tighter. We could be hostages and the mood in the room would not change at all. I get it. She is a married Christian and her skirts go all the way down to her ankles. And then, me. There are Bible verses that explicitly condemn me. Townsfolk see me getting home with company at 7 a.m. on Sunday and they tell my co-workers. Thank you. This is the rep I’ve been waiting for since I was 14. Could you also tell the girls from my high school, too. The ones who have ignored me since I was 14. Hint: it is all of them. My reunion is coming up and it will be a massive PR coup for me if they know I am the opposite of a virgin now.
I am on Facebook. People You May Know. A suggested friend—wait. This girl; I know this girl. I thought we were already friends. Wait…shit. Why did you unfriend me. It bothers me when you do that. It bothers me to consider that everybody I have ever met is not thinking about me, all the time. What is the point of the internet if you don’t see me on your News Feed, standing casually in front of a pagoda or cradling a guitar like I didn’t realize someone was aiming a phone at me. My life is not complete unless the force of my greatness gnaws away at you. Now I’m going to be invisible to you forever unless I get on Good Morning America. You’ve really put me in a spot here. This is why that guy shot Reagan. At least he was trying to impress someone famous. Had his priorities in order.
In summary: fuck Caucasian genetics, and Mark Zuckerburg.