Tales From The Wise Sloth: The Eggnog Story

In 1987 I was seven years old. I had just moved from Pleasanton, Texas (population 8,000) to Paris, Texas (population 25,000) and was starting the first grade. Like any child I was anxious about making friends and succeeding at my first year of school and life in general.

I didn’t have a very complicated personality at that age. I was so shy that my parents had to send me to speech therapy at an earlier age because I never spoke. It’s not that I couldn’t. I just let my identical twin brother do all the talking for me. He understood me. So he translated for the adults until they caught on to what we were doing and put a stop to it.

I was also trusting to a fault and vividly insecure. Despite my anxieties I didn’t have a hard time integrating into my new environment, because children enjoy meeting new children. So it wasn’t long before I was on a first name basis with a third of the kids on the playground, and I even had my own best friend, a swell kid named Robert who lived within walking distance of my house.

I’d been in first grade for almost a semester, and Christmas break was coming up. One day Robert and I were walking aimlessly around the perimeter of the playground at school after lunch talking about all things Christmas. At some point in the conversation I said one of the things I liked best about Christmas was that stores sold eggnog, and I love eggnog. Robert looked at me like he was a Ku Klux Klan member, and I just told him I was a gay black atheist.

Wide-eyed and with a tone of voice full of accusation, he shouted, “EGGNOG!” I flinched, and he shouted again, “EGGNOG!!” He kept shouting it over and over, and soon other kids standing nearby joined in. In no time there was a crowd of 5-10 children shouting angrily at me, “EGGNOG! EGGNOG! EGGNOG!”

I was just a poor country boy who moved up to the big city and was trying to fit in. I didn’t understand what social faux pas I had broken, but apparently it was fucking major. I was terrified. So I ran. It didn’t take long before all 40-60 children on the playground saw what was happening and joined in. They chased me through jungle gyms and across basket ball courts. I ran as hard as I could, but it was only a matter of time before they caught me and pinned me to ground. I can still remember the crowd surging above me screaming with such sincere disgust, “EGGNOG! EGGNOG!”

I don’t remember how long I laid on the ground in a fetal position while my peers pelted me with accusations of eggnog. I remember going home feeling more confused about life than ever. I wanted to be a good person. I wanted to fit in. I wanted to make adults proud of me. But I couldn’t even get the eggnog thing right. I’d gone and fucked up by liking eggnog, and I didn’t even know why that was a bad thing.

These thoughts and question racked my mind all night and the next day until the end of lunch break when my classmates and I were released onto the playground again. I walked outside that day feeling vulnerable. So I hung back by the edge of the building to survey the scene. I made eye contact with a few kids, and nothing happened. My paranoia began to dissipate until I heard a shout from behind me, “EGGNOG!” As soon as that happened, every child on the playground immediately joined in. Again, I was chased around the playground by a mob of angry anti-egg-noggers until they pinned me.

I know there were teachers watching this whole fiasco unfold, and to my memory they didn’t put a stop to it. I imagine they were just leaning against the wall of the school smoking cigarettes laughing at us. I don’t know if they ever said anything to any of the other children, but nobody ever said anything about eggnog to me again after that day. It’s like it never happened. At times I’ve wondered if did since my memory is the only validation I have that this scenario ever occurred.

Whether or not it was real, the experience shook me deeply for a long time. I didn’t admit to anyone else that I liked eggnog until high school. Even then I did so timidly.

As much damage as this event did to my self-esteem, it taught me a few things:

  1. Question everything.
  2. People tend to do whatever the people around them are doing, even if it’s being mean to someone else.
  3. You don’t have to be ashamed of your choices if other people don’t agree with them. They may get on top of you sometimes, but in the end, they’re not going to spend their lives with you. You can do what you want when they’re not around.
  4. Young people do stupid things that don’t make sense. That’s because we’re all born crazy, and life is a life-long struggle to figure out what sanity is. None of us will ever truly know what that is. So we all deserve a little leeway for doing stupid things like shouting “EGGNOG!” at their best friend and causing a riot that scars him emotionally for years of his formative life.

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Tales From The Wise Sloth: The “Good Porn” Story

When I was twenty years old I worked for a company that did short-run manual labor contracts like brush clearing, pressure washing and picking up trash on the side of the road. The job paid $50 per day, cash under the table. 99% of the workers were either felons with outstanding warrants or illegal immigrants, because those were the only people who would do the disgusting, dangerous, monotonous, back breaking work we did for so little money. I was there because my brothers were there, and it was better than my last job washing dishes at Bennigans.

We did a lot of work on long, lonely stretches of Texas country roads and found a lot of strange things motorists had thrown out their windows. Mostly we found old, sun-scorched, water-stained trucker porn magazines. These were all nasty, skanky, degrading, depressing smut rags that made Hustler look like Vanity Fair. The kind of magazines that published pictures of homeless guys dressed as Santa gangbanging a haggard woman with missing teeth. Until I worked at this job I didn’t even realize magazines like that existed.

In case you’re wondering, and you need it spelled out, the reason there’s so much trucker porn on the side of the road is because truckers masturbate to it while they’re driving, and when they’re bored with a magazine, they just throw it out the window.

Half the people who worked for that company either lived or partied at my apartment. So when members of our work crews would find these magazines, they’d keep them and put them in the magazine racks in my/our bathrooms. The house also had a subscription to Playboy and Maxim. So we had a range of toilet reading material, but mostly there was just old, cover-less, sun-dried, wrinkled trucker smut.

One day I was sitting on the toilet flipping through the magazines looking for a Playboy with an article I hadn’t read yet, but all I could find was soul-crushing trucker smut. Fed up, I threw away all of the road porn so all that was left was the classy stuff.

A few days later me, my two brothers and four or five other guys from our crew came home and started our nightly ritual of drinking to congratulate ourselves for pushing the limits of human endurance at work that day and to forget how hopeless our lives were. A few beers into the evening someone shouted from one of the bathrooms, “HEY! WHERE’D ALL THE GOOD PORN GO!?!” I chuckled to myself nonchalantly, but literally everyone else in house jumped up in a panic and ran to the bathrooms shouting, “What!? Is the good porn missing?” “Hey, where’d all the good porn go!?” “Who the fuck took all the good porn!?”

Casually, I remarked, “You mean all that trucker porn? Man, I threw that nasty stuff out.”

Then pandemonium erupted. Everyone was furious. They were seriously offended. It got tense, and for a second I feared for my safety. I tried to explain that I was doing us a favor by getting rid of all the riff raff, but everyone responded that they hated the vanilla classy stuff. It was like looking at a photograph of a fruit bowl to them. They needed something far, far, far more raw and primal to feel alive.

I looked at my roommates and coworkers with new eyes that day. I didn’t want to know what depraved life experiences made them feel a connection with gutter skank erotica, and it frightened me that I was the only one in the room (or on the highway) who enjoyed glamour porn.

A few months later the lease on our apartment ran out, and we all went our separate ways. I went on to become a computer help desk technician and network administrator. I’ve found porn on many many people’s computers, and I have never once found a folder full of glamour porn. Every jpg. and video file has been self-loathing degradation smut. I challenge you to go into any sex store and look at their magazine and video selections. Most of it is far from classy.

I hate burst your bubble, but most of the men you know are turned on by scarier stuff than you’d be comfortable knowing. Statistically speaking, trucker smut is the good porn.

fry meme

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Advice to Men on Sexual Domination and Submissiveness

There’s no one right position, technique, speed, duration or tone to have sex. Even if there were one combination of movements that your partner likes best, they’ll get bored of you doing the same thing every time. Being a good sexual partner requires you to understand all the variations of sex and cycle through them.

Sometimes women want to be treated like a princess in bed. Sometimes they want you to communicate how much she means to you by doing things like scattering rose petals on the bed, lighting candles and kissing her softly. She wants you to woo her by undressing her slowly then laying her down softly and making sweet, gentle, tantalizing, intimate, romantic love to her. All of these things will make her feel wanted, understood, cared for and safe. However, if that’s the only way you ever make love to your woman then you don’t understand her, and you’re not satisfying all her needs. Ironically, your good intentions are likely boring her and leaving her unfulfilled.

Most women crave harder, rougher sex every once and a while. This extends to more than just thrusting harder. They want their man to take charge and dominate her. They want to blur the lines of consensuality and submit to an overwhelming and uncontrollable force.

This can be difficult for sexually inexperienced men to understand. Society trains boys to grow up into gentlemen who treat women with respect and reverence, which is good. Furthermore, you should know from your own experiences that if you step over a woman’s personal boundaries in public she won’t hesitate to snap at you and call you a creep or worse. You could even be expelled, fired or arrested for sexual harassment just for talking about sex in front of a woman. If all the women in your life act like high class, prim, sophisticated, modest ladies, you may assume that they want to be treated with the same degree of light-handedness in bed, but that’s not always the case.

If you read any book on the psychology of women’s sexuality (which you should) you may be surprised to learn that most women have rape fantasies. This doesn’t mean that women want to be raped. In fact, many women don’t realize how common rape fantasies are, and they feel profound shame for having these guilty fantasies… yet their imagination keeps returning to that dark place.

Men aren’t any different. 99% of men masturbate, and I would hazard to say that most men with an internet connection will watch internet porn eventually. If you watch enough internet porn, it’s only a matter of time before you masturbate to some scenario that you might not do in real life such as cuckolding, infidelity, gang bangs, bukake, dubious consent, hardcore BDSM, homosexuality, incest, public sex, glory holes, teen anal, GILF, etc. Hopefully you don’t feel guilty about that, because it’s okay. Your imagination is a safe place to act out your biological carnal urges. Having exaggerated sexual fantasies isn’t a sign of immorality or weakness. It’s a sign that you’re human. Instead of repressing and loathing these thoughts, we should understand and learn from them.

Women shouldn’t fear and resent men’s sexual fantasies. They should learn from them that men crave variety and excitement. If they want to please a man sexually they should cater to his needs within reason. Men can learn the same lesson from women’s fantasies.

You don’t have to get psychoanalytical to understand why women would want to be dominated in bed every once and a while. It’s different. It’s exciting. It’s care free fun. It’s a thrilling, overwhelming sensation that tows the line between safety and danger similar to sky diving or riding a motorcycle. Even men can have a great time letting their guard down and being dominated now and again.

Having said that, you can also find psychological roots for this desire, and all of them are completely natural. Everyone has a psychological need for structure and security. Deep down we all want to be controlled by an authority figure. It makes us feel safe. It takes the burden of responsibility away from us, which feels euphoric. In this way, allowing someone to dominate you doesn’t feel threatening or belittling. Quite the opposite, it feels reassuring and comforting to know that you can trust your lover to take you to the brink of danger without going over the line.

When done correctly, domination won’t make a woman feel disrespected. It will actually make her respect you more because it demonstrates that you’re man enough to take control and exert your will. If you never exert any dominance in bed you run the risk of looking like an insecure wimp in her eyes.

At the same time, when a woman allows herself to be sexually dominated she’s actually exercising control. On the surface it might look like the dom is controlling the sub, but the sub can stop the sexual encounter at any time. The dom only gets to act in control because the sub lets him. It’s like controlling a raging bull with a remote control. That can be a very empowering experience. It’s similarly empowering for the sub to know that the reason her dom is being wild and ravenous is because she turns him on that much. His sexual appetite is an indicator of how desirable she is. That’s flattering.

On the other hand, sometimes women get weary of acting prim, proper and modest in public all the time. After acting in control for the public for so long they just want to throw their modesty to the wind and indulge in care free ravishing submission. Sometimes they just want to be lazy in bed. Men should be able to understand that. Sometimes men just want to lay on their backs and let the woman do all the work too. We should all get to enjoy that on a regular basis.

For these reasons and more it’s important for men to be dominant in bed sometimes. I can’t tell you how often or how intense that should be. You need to communicate with your partner to understand what she wants.

You might not be comfortable dominating your woman because you’re insecure or just not into that kind of thing. I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to step up to the plate. Imagine if your woman told you, “I’m just not into giving blow jobs or being on top. So you’re just going to have to live with neither of those things ever happening.” That would be selfish and insensitive, and eventually you might start looking for a woman who wants to pleasure you in the ways that are important to you. Sex is a give and take. Sometimes you have to do things that aren’t your favorite because it’s important to your lover, and she’s important to you. It’s not going to kill you. Quite the opposite, she’s going to reciprocate the pleasure to you when it’s your turn.

At this point I may have convinced you to experiment with sexual domination, but you’re still not sure what exactly that entails. The first thing you need to do is ask your partner what she wants. She has likely already been having specific fantasies that she wants you to enact. She’s the only person who can tell you what she wants. You should also read a few books on BDSM for beginners. There are hundreds to choose from. You may as well learn from the masters.

Being sexually dominant isn’t just something you do in bed. Depending on how far you and are your partner are willing to take it, you can make a lifestyle around being a dominant alpha male and/or a dedicated sub.  There are hundreds of books and forums covering this topic as well, and they’re worth looking into even if you’re not going to fully swallow the red pill.

For now I’ll give you an easy way to begin talking to your partner about domination and determine what level she wants. Sit down together with this list and discuss how far she wants you to go and how often:

Level 1: Light

Domination can be as simple as holding and kissing your woman firmly during sex. You can also press her against the wall, take her clothes off commandingly or tell her what you want her to do during sex. You can also blindfold your woman or restrain her hands behind her back. That takes a little control away from her and adds a higher level of eroticism to sex. All of these techniques demonstrate strength without being offensive.

Level 2: Medium

You can turn the heat up another notch by instigating sex more abruptly. Take her clothes off more forcefully. Manhandle her a little more in bed. Spank her ass and grip her tightly. Flip her over into successive sex positions confidently. Use sex positions that put her in a more submissive position like doggy style or the folding deck chair. Thrust harder and talk dirty to her. Pull her hair firmly, but make sure you hold a large tuft of hair close to the roots so it doesn’t hurt. Place your hand around her throat like you’re choking her, but don’t apply any pressure. Just having your hand there is enough to create the impression of dominance without risk of hurting her.

Level 3: Hard

Be more vocal about what you want her to do and how you want her to do it. Administer light spanking if she doesn’t follow your orders precisely. Use spanking toys like whips, crops and paddles. Use other toys like nipple clamps and gags. Have her be completely naked while you still have most of your clothes on to tip the power dynamics in your favor. Be forceful enough with your thrusting and manhandling that the issue of using a safe word becomes relevant. You can pick your own safe word, but one option that eliminates all confusion is to use “green,” “yellow,” and “red” for “go,” “proceed with caution,” and “stop.” If/when you choke her, apply a little pressure, but read a few articles about the proper way to choke. You’re not crushing the windpipe. You’re applying light pressure to the arteries on the side of the neck. Have your woman dress submissively and spend time both in and out of bed serving you as her master.

Level 4: Professional

If you’ve never practiced domination in the bedroom then you shouldn’t begin your journey into BDSM at the most intense level. It’s only logical that you work your way up to using advanced toys and techniques. At this level you definitely want to have read a few BDSM books and have gone to some fetish parties or clubs, which you should be able to find on the internet.

When done correctly any level of BDSM is empowering, loving and exciting for everyone involved. If you don’t think you’d be into even the lightest BDSM then you probably don’t understand what it is. It’s not a deviant taboo that only wicked perverts do. It’s for everyone. It’s not a line that you cross into sexual perversion. It’s an opportunity for you and your lover to explore each other mentally, physically and emotionally. It’s a natural way to have fun and bond.

It doesn’t cost anything to talk to your lover about spicing up your sex your life a little. You may be surprised to discover that your lover has been waiting to have that conversation with you.

just do it

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Why do I write The Wise Sloth blog?


Note: This explanation goes into the major life events that led to the creation of The Wise Sloth. If you want the short answer, scroll down and read the last four paragraphs.

The motivation for me to write The Wise Sloth probably started in the first year of my life. I was born prematurely, and my heart wasn’t done developing. So I had to spend the first few months of my life in an incubator until I was strong enough to survive heart surgery. Over the course of the ordeal I flat-lined seven times. After the surgery I was still in and out of the hospital for the first year of my life with pneumonia. So by the age of 6 I had been told a million times how lucky I was to be alive, and since I was raised in the deeply religious state of Texas, I was also told that God must have a very special plan for me. Being 6 years old, I believed what I was told, and I often wondered what important mission God must have gone through so much trouble to keep me alive to accomplish. Eventually I stopped believing God had a plan for me, but I still always carried a sense of responsibility to do something valuable with my life.

My parents divorced when I was six years old, and my two brothers and I spent the rest of our childhoods bouncing back and forth between our parents’ houses, which were on opposite sides of Texas. Our parents were always working and always stressed. So I had very little supervision, and what discipline I got consisted mostly of screaming and spankings. By the age of 8 I started becoming aware that nobody was going to teach me how to become a mature, responsible, self-actualized adult. The only way it was ever going to happen was if I taught myself.

I did well in school, but I wasn’t a philosophical prodigy (or any kind of prodigy). I made my first “C” on my report card in middle school when I stopped hanging out with nerds and started hanging out with the bad kids who smoked cigarettes and shoplifted. I made my first “F” my freshman year in high school when I started hanging out with kids who smoked marijuana and stole whatever wasn’t bolted down. I took a lot of drugs in those days and lost my mind a little bit. I couldn’t remember what normal was supposed to feel like, and I would constantly ask myself what reality is.

I started carrying a notebook with me in those days to draw in, and because I like quotes, one day I started collecting quotes of wisdom from famous people in it as well. That led to me writing my own observations and quips. The more notebooks I filled up, the less they included pictures and quotes, and the more they included questions and essays. I still carry a notebook with me everywhere I go and write down ideas and sketch out blogs in them. I call them my “ideation notebooks.”

Self-portrait I drew in high school

At the age of 17 I took a larger dose of hallucinogens than I was used to and spent the night talking to God. The next day I threw away my cigarettes and started reading the Bible. Later that year I was baptized in a Southern Baptist church, and my notebooks began to fill up with religious questions and observations. I was particularly obsessed with the question of the meaning of life. I felt paranoid that I would die without being able to say for sure that I made the most out of life, and I wanted to know for sure that I gave my future children the best life advice possible.

So I made a conscious decision to actively and systematically try to figure out life, meaning, maturity, responsibility and self-actualization to the best of my ability. To streamline the process I created a systematic method of problem solving based on basic math principles and the scientific method.

After graduating high school I attended a Baptist university where I studied the Bible and social sciences. I hoped to apply my systematic method of problem solving to the Bible and create the perfect argument for Christianity. However, I barely had to scratch the surface of Genesis before it became undeniably obvious that the Bible is a simple and blatant work of  primitive mythology.

By the end of my first year in university I lost my faith, left school and started drinking and using drugs again. After taking a year out of life to do back breaking manual labor with felons and immigrants, I joined the Air Force as a computer technician. Working with computers helped me hone my problem solving skills, and being in the military allowed me to see the world and find new questions and answers that I never would have been exposed to living in small town Texas. It also gave me time to consolidate my philosophies into a treatise on the meaning of life.

I had only been at my first duty station for a few months before September 11th happened. I watched the planes hit the Twin Towers on the television in my First Sergeant’s office while he handed me disciplinary paperwork for failing my room inspection. I wrote a rebuttal, but it fell on deaf ears. Over the next 6 years I watched the American military tear the Middle East apart. I asked everyone in any position of authority I could why we invaded Iraq, and I never got a straight answer. So I started looking for one on my own. The more I analyzed the situation the more I lost faith in our mission. The only explanation that made any sense was that destabilizing the Middle East wasn’t an accident. It was the point.

April 2004 Ali Al Salem Air Base

The last few years I was in the military I took night classes studying psychology, which led me to the conclusion that the military is a cult. I left the military full of guilt and shame at a time when it was viciously taboo in American culture to criticize the military or the preeminence of America.

Around the time I left the military one of my brothers was building a huge following blogging on MySpace under the screen name, “The Mad Goat.” He looked like he was having fun, and people were listening to the things he had to say, even it was just belligerent, drunken stories with dubious moral lessons at the end. So I started vomiting my drunken, belligerent viewpoints on MySpace as well. I copied the formula for my brother’s screen name, “The” + “adjective” + “animal”  and chose “The Wise Sloth” because I aspire to be wise, and I make an art form out of laziness.

The quality of my posts were awful. I had no business writing or expecting anyone to pay attention to my drivel, but a few people did, and that fueled my desire to keep going. Around 2008 MySpace basically died as everyone migrated to Facebook. At that point my brother stopped blogging and got on with his real life. I started a WordPress blog and copied over the few decent posts I’d written. Unfortunately, I lost 99% of my readership and had to build a new audience without the advantage of having a social networking platform built right into my blogging platform.

I decided to keep blogging for several reasons. First, my blog is an extension of my journals, where I catalog my own observations about life as I struggle to get it all figured out for myself. The fact that The Wise Sloth is public is an added bonus. I know there are a lot of people asking the same questions as me. If I can help them find answers quicker, I may be able to help make the world a better place for both of us.

Sometimes I choose my blog topics based on what I think my readers would benefit from or what would increase traffic to my site. My essays on sexual positions and techniques accomplish both of those goals.  Blogging also gives me a pulpit to speak about subjects that don’t get enough attention, like the fact that the U.S. Military is a cult, Christianity is mythology, capitalism is the root of most of the world’s problems, and locally sustainable communities are the solution to most of those problems.

As I write enough posts on a subject, I’m compiling them into E-books. I’ve made a few hundred dollars off The Wise Sloth from book sales and donations, which is a horrible return on investment considering that I’ve put thousands of hours of work into it, but that doesn’t bother me. I would still do it if I won the lottery and never had to worry about money again, and I’d still be writing if I knew for a fact that I’d never make any money off of it.

Having said that, I do want to make money from blogging, but I’m consciously playing the long game here. As long as I never stop blogging, it’s only a matter of time before I write enough books or create enough viral content to raise serious money. When that happens I’ll be able to fulfill my ultimate goal of building an intellectual secular monastery. In the meantime, I’ll be playing my little humble part in raising awareness of important issues. Whenever I die, I’ll leave something behind that will hopefully in some way justify my existence. Then all the work my doctors (and possibly God) put into keeping me alive when I was a baby won’t have been in vain. Or maybe all of my irreverent, vulgar words will be nothing but a huge disappointment, but at least I’ll have had fun writing them.

The Wise Sloth

Health Care in America

health care in america

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A woman walks into a hospital and approaches the nurse at the front desk.

Patient: Nurse! Nurse! Help me! I’ve got a horrible pain in my stomach. I think it might be cancer from eating all the processed, chemical-injected food they sell at every grocery store!

Nurse: Oh no! Quick, give me your health insurance card!

Patient: I don’t have health insurance because I can’t afford it. Is that going to be a problem?

Nurse: It is for you. We can’t treat you unless you have insurance.

Patient: You can’t help me, or you won’t help me?

Nurse: Technically we could, but we won’t, because you won’t pay your bills afterwards. After all, you can’t even afford insurance.

Patient: I promise I’ll pay my bills. And look at it this way, you’ll never get anything from me if I die.

Nurse: Seriously, our prices are so high there’s no way you’ll be able to afford them without insurance. There’s really no point wasting our time with you. You’d go bankrupt, and again, you wouldn’t ever be able to pay. So we’re just going to let you die.

Patient: But that’s not fair! why do you have to charge so much? Is it really that expensive to provide health care?

Nurse: Technically, no, but we raise the price and pass on the cost to the insurance companies. And insurance companies are evil. So nobody cares if they get overcharged.

Patient: But don’t the insurance companies just pass on the cost to their customers in the form of higher plans?

Nurse: They also reduce their loss by setting ridiculous co-pay thresholds. So you still have to pay thousands of dollars out of pocket even if you already spend hundreds of dollars on insurance each month. And they deny coverage for pre-existing conditions… at least, they did before Obamacare forced them to stop.

Patient: So are insurance companies losing a lot of profits now because they’re being forced to do what they exist to do?

Nurse: They’re making up the losses by forcing every American to have to buy insurance or get fined.

Patient: Isn’t forcing people to buy insurance, socialism?

Nurse: No. Socialism would be if the hospital and insurance companies were owned by the employees or they at least all got an equal cut of the profit. When a company bribes and coerces politicians to pass laws that force people to give them money, that’s just plain old simple extortion and corruption.

Patient: How am I supposed to afford to buy Obamacare? Like I already told you, I can’t afford any insurance.

Nurse: And like I already told you, now you’re going to have to find a way to pay your fine for not having insurance.

Patient: Can’t you just offer affordable prices for your vital services?

Nurse: No, because that’s not how supply and demand works. You see, the more vital something is, the more people will pay for it.

Patient: Who cares!? You make it sound like you have to extort people just because you can.

Nurse: Uh, yeah. That’s like the fundamental tenet of capitalism. Kill or be killed.

Patient: This entire system is completely immoral. Didn’t you take the Hippocratic Oath?

Nurse: Those are just empty words to make you feel better, like when we tell you that you’re a valued customer… or at least we would tell you that if you had insurance. As it stands, I’m just going to tell you to leave before I call the police and have you arrested for loitering.

Patient: Fine. I’m taking a bus to Mexico. I’ll see a doctor there.

Nurse: Drats. You found a loophole. I swear someday we’re going to make it illegal to do that. At least you can’t bring any medicine back.

The End.

You can and should live somewhere awesome

Click link to view image source

Life is infinitely valuable yet agonizingly short. Every fleeting second of your life is worth as much as life itself, and you only have once chance to make the most of each moment. Life is never going to be perfect. The universe isn’t going to hand peace and fulfillment to you on a silver platter. It’s up to you to make the changes in your life that will bring you happiness. You’ll never have complete control of your environment. So you’ll never be able to create the perfect life for yourself as you imagine it, and even if you could, it wouldn’t last forever. So being happy depends more on your ability to enjoy life right now, as it is, than your ability to control the world.

Having said that, there are situations where this philosophy doesn’t apply. Being dogmatically optimistic when there are legitimate external problems in your life isn’t a virtue. That’s insanity. You’re not helping yourself by deluding yourself into believing everything is okay when it’s not.

If you live in the ghetto or suburbia, your life isn’t as good as it could be. Ghettos and suburbs are designed so that you’re far away from work, shopping and leisure. You may have a micro park near you, but that’s about it. You’ll be forced to spend time and money driving anywhere, and wherever you go, everything you do will cost as much money as possible. So you’ll likely spend most of your free time at home where your rent, mortgage, utilities, food and home furnishings will be as expensive as possible. This will limit your options and force you to buy low quality goods and services, which will provide you a lackluster quality of life. If you live in a community that has cultural values that you disagree with, you’ll probably enjoy life even less.

If none of that applies to you, then congratulations, you’re the exception. The rest of society lives in a sensory deprivation pressure cooker. If you’re one of the unlucky people who live in a ghetto or suburb, I have good news. You can live somewhere awesome, and if you haven’t proven it already, you will eventually. At some point in your life you’re going to move houses and change jobs. If you can do that in one city, you can do it across cities. Moving to another country isn’t even that complicated. If you’re in good health, have a bachelor’s degree and are under 30 years old, you can emigrate. All you have to do is file some paperwork and then move your body from one place to another. It’s not as easy as baking a cake, but it’s within your capabilities.

The only thing holding you back from living in a beautiful town with lakes, forests, rivers, ocean waters, nice people, clean air, good food, beautiful culture and freedom is your excuses. You can make all the excuses in the world for why you’re stuck in a dead end town working at a dead end job surrounded by dead end people, and your reasons might sound inarguable on paper, but all of those perfect excuses aren’t going to do you any good 30 years from now when all you have to look back on is a lifetime spent waiting for your real life to begin.

Your only shot at life is happening right now. This is the only chance you’re ever going to have to spend today somewhere you love. This is the only chance you’re going to have to build the memories of today that you’re going to carry with you for the rest of your life. There’s nothing more important going on in your life than making the most out of your life. If you can’t afford to move, then you’re doing something wrong, and you need to read “Think and Grow Rich” by Napoleon Hill. There’s nothing you can’t accomplish if you put your mind to it and never give up. You can and should live somewhere awesome, because the cost/benefit analysis of spending your life in an oppressive, stifling environment just doesn’t add up.

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