The Unfortunate Necessity of Lying

The Unfortunate Necessity of Lying

Boob Maggots. That’s right boob maggots. You are about to learn about the horrifying reality that is boob maggots.

Boob maggots have been apparently spreading like wildfire in a few developing countries in South America and West Africa because of three reasons -  a healthy pre-existing boob maggot population, lack of proper boob hygiene, and lying.  

The maggots are able to breakthrough decaying and dying skin by burrowing into the underboob (located on the underside of the boob). They scratch at and puke acid on the surface of the boob until a small but navigable hole emerges, and just like in James and the Giant Peach, the maggots take advantage of their new squishy layer.

Once inside of the the boob, they will crawl underneath the skin and burrow even deeper towards the mammary glands where they will reproduce creating sometimes hundred of Boob maggots. The boob maggots are blind, deaf, and have no sense of smell, so they prefer dark, warm, and damp places where they can hide and live out their days in a Double D rack. They never actually see the boobs due to their plight but due to their nutritious and warm nature they are able to thrive in its environment. They don’t need to see them, they just need to make babies with them!**

**Use that line only in Sperm Banks and creepy illuminaughty parties**

"I would like to make a donation please"

Boob Maggots survive solely off of the decaying flesh, muscle tissue, and boob goo that surrounds their world. They are very tiny, but there have been reports of finger sized maggots removed in severe cases. The maggots can cause irreparable damage to the breast and even cause PTSD symptoms in many of the victims because of the fucking terrifying feeling of your boob being eaten from the inside out. **

**If you want to help out with this epidemic, please keep reading and at the end of the post there will be a link where you can donate to help this cause and learn more information**

The medical risks are severe but the real reason why the maggots have become so rampant is that women who become infected will not tell anyone. They are afraid of what people will think of them when they find out they have maggots in their gazongas.  

I don’t fucking blame them.

Now I am not advocating for these women to hide their boob maggots, I think that it is petrifying event that should be treated by a doctor immediately, but I am just pointing out an obvious truth. Not one wants to motorboat a lady with boob maggots.

Boob maggots are somewhat intangible for people in the developed world but maybe its easier to think back to the lice epidemics of fourth grade where they made the kids line up like they were headed to an internment camp. Kids would joke about who had the lice, or remark about how stupid this entire procedure was, but everyone was fearful when that overweight nurse from Poland stuck her sausage fingers between your hair and looked for those white devils.

I am good with children and abandoned dogs!

What I still don't understand about the lice epidemics is the fact that the nurses were always terrible at hiding which child had it as though they were oblivious to the playground heckles. Every other kid took 20 seconds behind the blue curtain and then FOR SOME MYSTERIOUS REASON as soon as the kid who eats bugs and doesn’t know his peasant haircut looks good only on Zoeey Deschanel and Monty Python actors went behind the curtain, his hair check took 30 minutes and his Mom as well as the entire staff of Child Protective Services rushed into the gymnasium like their lives depended on it.

You mean there are hair cuts that don't involve a bowl?

I still remember the kid who got lice and I am sure everyone does. No one forgets the kid who poops his pants or gets lice in 4th grade. He could go on to be the President and the first thought that comes into your mind when he takes the podium is "Stinky Butt!"

The lice infected kid had a legitimate fear of being ostracized and in order to protect himself he lied about the lice liked a hound.  He said that he felt as though he looked better with a buzz cut and that it had nothing to do with the CDC scrubbing him down with biohazard suits on yesterday.

Fucking no one looks good with a buzz cut at the age of 8. Everyone either looks like the bully from Toy Story or an emaciated holocaust victim.

But who knows, maybe I am just projecting my self-image.  #FreudStuff

This is the part that puzzles me though. Everyone has lied about their current situation before. Maybe you haven't had lice, but you have had something happen to you where it is uncomfortable to talk about. And everyone is more than okay with lying about these things without hesitation, even if it threatens their well-being.

You pooped your pants? Then maybe you tell your boss you sat on a brownie and farted out of surprise. 

Stole a graham cracker and some old lady is super pissed? Tell her that it is the aliens messing with her brain again. 

Super Herpes? Go to ASU #LUMBERJACKSRULE

Lying is one of those universal things that seems as though every parent in America drills this unbreakable notion into our brains that lying is wrong in every circumstance unless of course it is a white lie to avoid something uncomfortable like talking about the poop in the back of your pants or the maggots in your boob. Then its okay to lie. As long as the only person it hurts is you.

But I would like to propose something that is against the grain.

White lies help perpetuate these unrealistic standards and make people lie about the current situation they are in. But I am not saying it is their fault. I totally get it. Even I will continue to lie about my situation because I don’t want to be the kid with lice, or the poor kid who can’t afford new clothes, or the kid who got such a raging boner during the first 5 minutes of Tomb Raider that he got a restraining order from not only getting near Angelina Jolie but even thinking about her.

The solution to this problem is not to start telling the truth. The truth will not set you free. The truth will only backfire in your face and cost you friends. But doubling down on your bets and lying your ass off gives you a much better chance of riding that Jet Ski next to Laura Croft. #ViagraNotNeeded #OrRecommended

Try and ban this North Korea!

Everyone has this unreasonable and hesitation about lying. Not white lies, but the lies that will actually do something for you besides avoiding an uncomfortable conversation. Lying to the police, lying on tinder, and the most fucking puzzling of all the cases, lying on job applications.

I would say around 90% of my friends are currently struggling to get by economically and yet they hold onto this pride, this hope, this fear, that prevents them from saying that they do have 3 to 5 years of experience and time management skills. It is such an easy lie and yet many of the people I know barely do it or refrain from it all together. Their choice is wrong and not thought out.

One of the biggest things keeping the truth alive is the feeling that the economy is getting better. Obama released some economic numbers this month that look phenomenal.  The US economy added 321,000 jobs in November, continuing on the path of 5 consecutive years of job growth. The Dow is consistently closing at record highs just 6 years after being cut into a ⅓ of its value. GDP growth continues to soar past Europe whose economy is still stuck in the mud and America continues to grow at rate which economists consider “robust.” Virtually every sector of the American economy is growing, except for one.

You.

The unemployment/underemployment rate for recent graduates is 50%. That number starts to look a lot higher if you look at people who not in the already weathlystraight white male category. 

Wages for people under 25 have been growing at an 80% slower rate than the rest of America. 80%! The divide between rich and poor as reached the largest divide since England could call this country a colony.

This graph compares the average income of the 1% to the 99% between 1917- 2007

The economic reports the government continues to release are white lies. They are all accurate, but they are focusing on the wrong issues. All that they are doing is complementing the fat lady on her dress rather than addressing the weight issue that will bring her down to her massive knees.

Now I like fat lady economic analogies as much as the next guy, but they aren’t going to help you. What is going to help you is telling you the reality of the situation.

The job market is so bad for our generation that you are truly a statistical anomaly if you end up doing anything other than pouring coffee, making copies, waiting tables, or answering phones.

My friends and the people I care about are giants compared to the dimwitted dipshits that hold the job positions that they dream of. Individuals that I know who could make a serious difference in this world are sidelined as though they were destined for mediocrity and can’t handle anything more than a request for a refill.  

Learn how you can use your PhD in Philosophy at the Cash Register!

I don’t know about you guys, but I think that’s fucking bullshit and I am ready to try anything to make sure that the 1% line doesn’t keep comically raising up while the rest of America doesn’t even get a blip.

Poverty isn't a joke. It threatens relationships, dreams, and even a few years in poverty can cripple a person for life and force them to be stuck in the poverty cycle until they die. It's a slow death, sometimes you don't even realize you are dying, but holy shit does it hold onto you tight.

Take Nicholas Bose for example (pictured right above these words). He has a PhD in immunology and microbiology but has been underemployed since 2008 where he lost his research position. When the economy crashed he couldn't find a job so he took a job bagging groceries. He can't get another research job because no one trusts a man who hasn't had a research job since 2008. He was one of those "jobs" that is helping America bounce back.l

Fuck any system that doesn't recognize that as an impossible loop to get out of.

If you are comfortable with lying about your boob maggots in order to make others feel more comfortable and for them to not know the pain that you are living with, then you should have no hesitation making up an entire job on your resume, saying your boss was John Kelly, and making up what ever job duties you need to lie about to get that fucking job.

I am not kidding. The amount of background checks, reference checks, and actual work that is spent to ensure that you have done what you have said you have done is laughable. I have conducted many of these interviews and I have yet to see any sort of check on any position. The people in power have been consistently looking for loopholes to gain further power, get more money, and push you down further. Then they were stupid enough to leave this huge loophole open?

I say we drive through with a fucking tank through that loophole. 

 Lie, lie, and lie again on your resume. BUT, make sure you do your work to ensure that the lie is full proof. Take some time on your lie, make it clever, elegant, and believable. Find a friend who can lie without hesitation and make him your reference. Become the lie because that is the only way some of us will ever break out of this cycle.

I guarantee you if there were more people in power like the friends that I have made, the individuals that have inspired me, and the ones who went out of their way to help me out in my time of need, then we would have a much different graph then the one above. So, next time you see your dream job or a job that you would be perfect for, lie until you are the perfect candidate for that job because trust me the person before you wasn’t perfect either.

Live Deliberately

John Kelly

****The Cure for Boob Maggots - DONATE HERE

We are constantly troubled by uncountable accounts of boob maggots in the 3rd world.  But it is true these maggots could cripple any one of our beloved female friends, families, and partners.

That is why I am starting a kickstarter to end Boob Maggots. For the next 60 days, I will attempt to raise $2,000 to travel to Ghana where boob maggots have been particularly aggressive and help women clean and soap up their boobs.

It is a hard task but I am up to the challenge. Some of have labeled me as the modern day Jesus Christ, and although I will not disagree with them, I prefer to think of myself more as a Gandhi like figure.

Even a $10 dollar donation will help me reach these women who need their boobs cleaned the most. Dirty boobs, small boobs, big boobs with hard to reach areas, nothing will is too big or too small of a task for me.

If I do not reach the $2,000 mark within 60 days then all of your money will be returned to you. In the case that I fail, which I really, really hope that I don’t, I ask one thing of you of dear readers: scrub some boobs for charity.

From the Safety of My White, Wealthy, Soccer-Mom Infested Neighborhood

Dear Readers,

Trust me I know, I FREAKIN KNOW that my reputation precedes me. Everyone in my entire life has always called me a sort of a “bad boy”. From when I was ruling the playground to when I was beating up kids who didn’t laugh at every joke I made. I have always been on the wrong side of the law. And its true. I am a bad boy. A real bad boy. I am a rough, toughin, REAL cowboy from Arizona who don’t take shit from nobody. A rebel without a cause.  A soldier without an army. A rapper without Pepsi contract.

"For Those Who Think Young! Pepsi One!"

Now I am sure that many of you probably think this friggin' kid has a rap sheet longer than the receipts at CVS, but you might actually be surprised to hear that I am clean as whistle.  As much as I would like to admit that it was my cunning and guile that got me out of these situations, I would be lying like  the housewife who said that this was only her 2nd martini of the day and that the dog was the one that ate all the Ice Cream Sandwiches.

“ If doesn’t ruin their marriage, my poops from this will!”

In fact most of the time I have interacted with the police, I immediately become a stumbling ape who has the energy and focus of a crack addict. You didn’t ask for a witty anecdote officer? Well how rude of me! I will tell another sloppy, poorly crafted story to patch things up between us.

On that note! 

Let me share a few story with you so you can catch my drift of how shocking it is that I am not behind bars.

I am not sure how many of you have actually talked to police while intoxicated but it is truly an artform. There are few people in this world that can stand up to the scrutiny and the intimidation.  The second the police makes ocular contact with your body they are evaluating you to make sure your eyes maintain their focus, that your feet are rooted strong into the ground, and that every word you say is spoken with articulation. Even the most prepared individual can seem suspicious with a slight mishap.

I have yet to master that artform.

This brings me to one of favorite past times in Flagstaff: chucking beer bottles at the train. There isn’t a lot of logic to this. In fact that is mostly the appeal of it. Hearing the crash of the bottle on the moving train was the ultimate thrill of rebellion against what I like to call “ the man.”

Girlfriend break up with you? Toss a bottle. Found out your friend is slightly taller than you? Toss a bottle. Super Herpes? Toss a fucking bottle.

The benefit of breaking beer bottles against the train is that you get to drink the beer in addition to the senseless destruction. It really is a win win. In fact the only detriment to this activity is that its highly illegal.  Its so illegal that I am sure that the law has to go back to the days where everyone wore cowboy hats,and it took 20 years to cross the country. Odds are if you looked it up in one of those quirky law books from the 1800s, it would probably come with a punishment of shaving 10 lice-infested kids or talking to someone named Peter for more than 10 minutes.

               " Is there a playground or a school 100 yards from here?"

Well one night when I needed to get rid of a few Miller High Life’s, Johnny Law came to pay me a visit. I had just finished my last beer so I lobbed it high so it could land on the top of the train to create a spectacular shatter. This is by far the best shatter of them all because it makes you feel athletic. Which only happens for me when someone asks me to fit into a small crack.

"Where do the Americans get their spirit?!"

I threw it high and hard. The very nanosecond that my molecules from my fingers left the molecules from the clear glass bottle, a police car’s lights went on.

Now there are a few ways cops approach you, but I for some reason have always had the micropenis/better than you approach.

The police came over and said “ pretty good throw kid”

“ Thanks” I stupidly mumbled out of my mouth not thinking that even that was admitting guilt.

“ You think this is funny? You could have derailed a train and killed everyone on board. I should take you to jail right now”

I hesitated because 1) I was trying to see if he didn’t understand how trains, bottles, or physics work or he was just trying to fuck with me and 2) I was a little drunk and had no idea what to say.

“I didn’t know that I wasn’t allowed”

Are you fucking me? That was what I came up with?  That’s like eating all of the Starbursts in a bag except for the yellow ones and then saying you didn’t know the yellow ones were bad.

Fucking monsters.

It was one of the moments that you think about for 8 years from now. Then every time you do think about it, you’re forced to scream “FUCK ME I AM TERRIBLE” while hitting your head in hopes that the bad memory is shoved out.

Please tell me that is relatable.

The fucking unbelievable part you ask? It fucking worked.

“Well yeah you could have done a lot of damage! Now I want to see you pick up every last piece of glass around here and dispose of it properly!”

Fucking boner sniffer man. Totally ruining my vibe. ALL the glass? What a prick.

.

Now most of you hear that story and think that I was lucky, that I got a nice cop, but the truth is much more uncomfortable and way less fun. It is a truth that has caused many of us to avoid the topic, refuse to click on articles, and avoid Facebook like its plague. It was because I was a white man in a patagonia jacket.

That’s right, here comes the white guilt.

I have done some of the stupidest things you have ever heard. Things that could have gotten me locked away for years and yet... I have a clean record.

It’s not like I didn’t get caught. I got caught throwing a beer bottle at a moving train. That officer could have had a reasonable suspicion that I was throwing a molotov cocktail and was committing some casual terrorism. He could have shot me on the spot and there are people in this country that would have said Hero.

No one hearing the story would say that I was innocent, but no one would also say I deserved to die.

Michael Brown was not an innocent kid, but he didn’t deserve to be shot and killed. Neither did a 12- year old boy from Cleveland whose biggest concerns were cooties and quicksand and thought it would be fun idea to bring an airsoft gun to a playground.  Neither did Trayvon Martin who was carrying the dangerous weapon of Skittles and black skin. Neither do any of the young black males that will be killed by the police every 28 hours that passes by from now until we actually do something about this.

In the wake of these tragedies, many Americans are forced to ask themselves the truly difficult question of how do we stop this?

It’s not an easy answer. If the answer was obvious or simple or lacked complexity then we would have done it ages ago.

The answer is not in Ferguson. The answer is not tipping over cop cars, it is not by chaining yourself to a park bench, and its not by standing out in the cold screaming at the government for their bullshit “due process.”

The reason why is because at the end of the day, it wasn’t the police that let Darren Wilson free, nor was it Obama,  or the mayor, or even the Illuminati. It was a Grand Jury. A jury of our peers.  It was us.

The problem is not them, its us. We The People granted impunity. We The People said that it was okay for a police to kill a teenager because he could have been more dangerous than he actually was.

These events have gripped the nation and forced everyone to pay attention. Yet at my work today (a workplace filled with only old white people), there was not one mention of the events in Ferguson. Individuals rather talk about how windy the weather is, or how they are going to do nothing this year for Thanksgiving , or how Karen down the hall doesn’t know how to send an email attachment.

Get your shit together Karen, its 2014. If you ain’t sending nudes on Snapchat, then you are never catching up.

“Skin for Skin!”

That’s the uncomfortable part that we all avoid. It is difficult to talk about such contentious issues that can cause such unease. We are told not to even bring it up at an early age because it is hard. It makes us feel uncomfortable.  Maybe you’re afraid to speak up because you won’t seem like the smartest person on the issue. Maybe you’re afraid that people will think that you care about issues and won’t be any fun. Maybe you’re afraid because you will be wrong and you'll have to change.

Those are all fears that I have felt. It’s hard to be that vulnerable. Silence or talking about the weather is easier.

None of my co-workers will be shot by the police. The injustice is not happening to them. They can sit back their entire lives, keep their mouths shut, and they will not penalized in any way shape or form. But that’s not how real change happens. We need them to come on board. Who knows? They might be on the jury one day. They might be on a jury in 28 hours.

Real change happens by keeping the conversation alive.

Zimmerman didn’t kill Trayvon, the Olympics did. The Weather Channel killed Trayvon Martin. The Election killed Trayvon Martin. Hell Fucking Kim Kardashian’s butt killed Trayvon Martin. It is so easy to fall back into easy conversation and talk about things that will not challenge anyone’s line of thinking. I am guilty of it as well and will probably continue to move onto topics such as the ever enthralling discussion of whether or not Karen will ever get off of her fat ass and actually do something for this company.

Thanksgiving is coming up in a couple of days and I am sure Ferguson will come up at many dinner tables and I am sure that at many of those tables the conversation will move on faster than it came. It might not hang around long enough for many of you to voice your opinion on the matter. It’s not a clear cut issue. But complexity doesn’t have to vice. Police need to have the ability to protect themselves, but the numbers are hard to fight.

1 in 3 black men will go to prison in their lifetime.

59% of drug related prisoners are African American.

70% of school related arrests are either black or hispanic

Black males are 4 times more likely to be searched during a traffic stop than white males

These numbers have only grown in their gap and become much more frightening. The way we fight this is not by protesting in Ferguson, or signing an online petition, but fundamentally changing people’s perception of what is not okay in today’s society. How do we do that? Through political bumperstickers? Hashtags? Fuck no. You have the best chance of getting through to the people in your life. Not a politician, not a protester, not a grand jury. You can touch the people around you. That is how true, meaningful change occurs.

Now if you truly believe that there is not a problem with the judicial system and that this issue is not important. Then I can respect that.  Stay silent and move onto something else. I won't think anything of it.

But if you remain quiet because you think you will say something stupid, or that it won’t be the most fun conversation in the world, or even worse that you might be wrong about what you think. Then Jesus, I don’t even want to know you.

Live Deliberately

John Danger Kelly

I Never Lost An Argument Until This Summer and It Nearly Killed Me

Queen LaQueef, the very same actress/producer/song writer from critically acclaimed movies such as Bring Down the House and the cult classic Taxi with Jiggleme Fallon, once claimed that:

“The Definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over again and expect different results.”

The Queen has obviously never needed to win a political argument before and has certainly never done Model UN.

All of you know what I am talking about. This year’s election has been dominated by one issue campaigns where candidates will deliver the same stump speech everyday, over and over again. They begin to sound like well-dressed crazy people who can’t stop talking about Obamacare, abortion, or their folksy values. #MamaGrizzly #YesAllMamaGrizzlies

As sad as it is, their repetition actually begins to change things. Republicans took back the Senate not on a blanket of ideas but by screaming passionately a message of hell no. If they don’t give in and keep on yelling while continuing to deliver the same 10 word answer on Obamacare, Americans will join the madness and believe that there are death panels that are coming after your gramps because the old man voted for Romney. #LastThingHeWillEVERDo #BidenChainGang #KeepOntoYourGuns #PaulRyanCan’tProtectYou

But you want to know what is truly the worst part of it? That it works. It truly works. We react to it, we respond to it, and we vote because of it.  I know this to be true because of a little thing called Model UN.

Now some of my dear readers know how involved I was with Model UN. Some of those same people were way too polite and didn’t ask “What the hell is Model UN? “ or “That sounds pretty fucking faggy, you gay or something?”

No, you homophobic neanderthal . It was awesome program, but it did slowly turn me into one of those assholes who sounded like he came out of the womb concerned only about jobs, Bibles,and ISIS.

“Equal pay hurts my wittle privilege!”

Model UN is not far from the bullshit that goes on in Washington. In fact, normally it’s a perfect representation of DC. Right down to the douchebags, ill fitting suits, and scum staches. #LindseyGrahamStillWearsHisFather’sSuit #SoDidI #WeirdKids

In Model UN, you get a country and a committee assignment and it is your duty to represent your country to the best of your ability and pass a resolution that helps progress your country’s message. So you could be Israel trying to pass a resolution about how endangered your country is while declaring in the same breath how large your rocket’s shafts are. #PenetratesAnyBunker #NoConsentRequired

Or you could be Switzerland and hide in the corner while trying to flirt with the Sweden delegate by pretending that either of your countries are worth a damn. #ILeftMyHeartInStockholm

It is truly a competition built around my personality. There are so many wieners and awkward kids that if you had someone with some charm and personality who could speak intelligently about Russia for 30 seconds, you have a World champion. You do not need to have all the facts about the issue, or know anything about your country to be honest, if you can speak passionately and ignore what is happening to your left and right, you can win this thing.

Delegates who tried to come in with volumes of research always stepped on their dicks within seconds. It takes me all of 5 seconds for me to steal what they said and package it in a better voice followed by a wink and an easy joke. Politics isn’t about having the better idea, it is about having the sexier idea. Soon I became the artist of Model UN, someone who can command a room without any power. Speaking with passion and excitement in my voice allowed me to push aside who I needed to get to Israel’s long rocket and seduce the committee into ignoring the smart kid and fucking me instead. #NotGoingtoBeSlutShame #TalkingAboutThatButtStuff #GetDome

The problem is I kept heaping on this same bullshit until I got to the granddaddy of them all, World Model UN in Brussels, Belgium. I was standing next to some of the smartest students from Syria, Lebanon, France,Nigeria, Kenya, China, Japan, Venezuela, Argentina, Spain, and everywhere you could possibly think of.

Where was I in the mix you ask? Well I had enough research to write an angry comment on a Kony2012 video in between the times of taking a dump and moving onto surfing the NSFW section of reddit. #BubbleButts

The fuck up shit is that I won. I got the Diplomacy Award and my name came up on the screen at the awards ceremony. I got a piece of paper, a potted plant, an awkward handshake, and by dammit were my parents proud of all 3. Much like Mitch McConnell, I was validated for only being louder at the perfect time and knowing how to stay on message.

Winning because of that is like getting an Oscar by showing tits and butts the entire movie with a quick 30 second reflection at the end of it. #WolfofWallStreet

The problem with this is that bullshit helps no one. No one. Especially not yourself.

The Republicans have control and I have my award, but they haven’t talked about a plan. They are about reducing the deficit as long as it only comes from Democratic programs. They actually have no idea how to govern and I have no idea how to solve the refugee crisis in the Middle East. #None #PutThemIntoTheWorldCupStadium?  

I walked away with no supreme understanding of the refugee crisis, resolution writing abilities, or even the ability to talk to my common man. I learned how to give soundbites in a 1-minute speech, sit down, and raise my hand to give it again. I became a fucking politician.

Now some of my dumber readers might think that whatever you won the award. Well thank god you found my blog post because I am about to better your life.

Now when you learn to give political speeches, you can’t really stop. Soon Model UN began to permeate my life and I began talking like I was in a moderated caucus every moment of every day. I always had something better to say and I never lost an argument because I never gave them the chance to demonstrate their point. I look smarter and by dammit did I feel good about it. It was how I began conversations, try to get a free beer at the bar, and even in my often vain attempt to seduce ladies.

Flash forward to the actual point of this story

The Crush That I had this Summer.

Now I don’t know about you guys, but crushes put me into a mindset where I am verging on a mental illness. I will walk completely out of my way to maybe catch a glimpse of them in some pathetic way of setting up an organic encounter. I will calculate each text message as though it were trying to determine which wire to cut on a bomb strapped to my mother’s chest.

Now I am sure some of you have felt this weird obsession before because you're not banker, you are a human. If you didn't you would probably be a serial killer. Those assholes never get laid. 

Your passions don’t make you into a weaker person, they make you into an individual. The problem with these passions is that your desire for them can make you rush through the motions required to achieve them. I wanted to be a great debater, but I just chose volume rather than content.

If we all want to be as funny as Queen LaQueefa, we have to spend the hours that she obviously put into making The Cookout 2 into the classic that it became.

This lady of the summer was something else. We had a history before, but once I set my mind into winning her over, success was my only option. I didn’t care about where I would be the next month, much like I didn’t care what happened after I sat down for that 1 minute speech on refugees. Refugees wasn’t my motivation, that piece of paper was. I had my blinders on and I was going full speed towards a wall.

When I get passionate about something, I move like a locomotive, fast and stuck on one track. I came up with elaborate ideas for dates that I could push into a romantic realm. Seemingly innocuous hang outs that could potentially reignite the old flame. I was the 8th grade kid again passing notes to figure out if she liked me, because I couldn’t lose an argument. I need to push her much like I would to a committee full of delegates. You have to take small steps to win at Model UN. If you go in for the kiss too early you will never win.

Now I don’t know if you have ever seen a locomotive crash, but when you do it is worse than when Gwyneth Paltrow thought she understood the plight aids victims in Africa

It was one random drunken night of karaoke and cheap drinks (I say random night because I honestly have idea what night that could be because that all the Flagstaff nightlife is). #CarryOnMyWarWardSon #NotAllowedToSingThatAnyMore #FirstAmendmentBitch

I decided to make my move and go in for a kiss and she backed away. I am not sure if you have ever had someone back away from a kiss but it is not as graceful as the sentence leads you to believe. It is much more physically awkward sort of like someone trying to catch a frisbee but their hand keeps rejecting it. Sort of like in Flubber where Robin Williams is trying to catch his newly created green creation but it keeps slipping out of his finger tips. The Frisbee keeps bouncing it off your hands until it just sort of flops on the ground and everyone knows that you are an asshole and your father never liked you.

After I pulled back from the most awkward almost kiss of my life, I decided to ask like the asshole ultimate frisbee player that I am “Why did you back away?” As though it was unfathomable to understand why someone would not be attracted to an alien man child with a sailor’s mouth and an unhealthy attraction to  Lara Croft. #TombRaider #WombRaider #First8MinutesIsALLthatINEEDtoWatch

The silence before her answer is a moment that I will never forget. Silence is one of those things that if used correctly can be much louder than any sentence. Especially if the person who you are silent towards has been rambling for 23 years in his life in order to avoid that same silence.

“ You don’t listen” she said “ You can’t take your mind off yourself. You only wait for your chance to speak and your chance to impress me. John you are smart, you are funny, but I need something more than adjectives. I need something more than momentum, I need someone who can stop moving and start working on themselves.”

That cut.

It’s rare that you have such a solid truth from such a close person. Those types of truths are the reason you start drinking on a Tuesday morning.  Those are the type of truths you don’t forget.

I looked back into her eyes, I remained just as silent, and then I cried. I cried like a bitch. I cried like I had lost the Beauty Pageant. I cried like there was no one else in the room. I cried like I had just realized that I did not want to be the person that I was. And that was exactly what happened.

That silence, that direct language, that incredibly fresh observation made me realize that I had wasted my time. Not on her. But on myself.

Too many times in life we measure ourselves by the praise we have received, the job we have, the possessions around us. Too often we do not work on the the skills in our arsenal nor the accomplishments we want to achieve. I had not spent the time and hard work that is required to become a smarter person. I had been obsessed with moving onto the next challenge even if it did not mean completing my research. I could cover it up with jokes, charm, and lies. It helped me in the short run but as soon as I jumped into a bigger pond, I began to sink.

It can be depressing to come to the realization that you do not like things about yourself. It can be difficult to not know if any of the measurements you have met in your life actually matter in the long run. But it is important to come to this realization and actually do something about it.

I say this now because many friends of mine are going through this identity crisis. Graduating college means that you are no longer a student and you have to define yourself by other means. You will not receive an A, no one will tell you what to work on, you will succeed by your own merits, not by the praise of others.

Not only that but life becomes a lot harder. Employment is not guaranteed and many of the narratives that we have surrounded ourselves with is "that we can do it if we want it hard enough" or "follow your dreams". We are not told about the next step.

I wanted success but I didn’t translate that to taking a breath, and spending the time you can’t skip that is required in order to better yourself.

The success you achieve in your life will not happen because you want it, it will happen because you took time out of your day and worked on it.  Taking the time to realize that you suck at something, and then sweating through the hard work until it comes naturally to you is the only way to move forward as a person. It takes time. No one skips this process. Especially the kid who only wants momentum.

I am in Boulder now working at the University and talking to rich white men about donating to the program. I still use the tactics I employed in Model UN, not because I am lying, but because it is hard. I have been that way 23 years of my life. I don’t expect to change overnight. That immediate change is something that the old me would have expected.  But taking those moments to listen, and ask questions, and lose an argument, have made me into the happiest John Kelly that I have been yet.  

John Danger Kelly
Live Deliberately