Well dunk me in blood and call me a madman.
Good evening and welcome back to The Neverending Standup.
I’m your host, @brandt, and I’d just like to say, hello, and good evening.
And so I will say those things now.
Hello!
Good evening!
Excellent. I said the things I said I’d like to say.
I did it! I accomplished something!
See how easy it is to accomplish things when you really put your mind to it?
You can do anything!!
Go get ‘im, tiger!!
You’ve got this, tiger! You can do it! Focus! Decide! Believe in yourself! Give it your all, and you will surely succeed! Now you go get that boar, tiger!! Go get ‘im, tiger!!
Boar! You’ve got this! Escape from that tiger! Don’t you let that tiger get you! You can do anything!! Focus! Decide! Believe in yourself! Give it your all, and you will surely succeed! Now you go get away from that tiger, boar!! Go get away from ‘im, boar!!
All right!
Yeah!
Where was I going with this!
Oh yeah,
where I was going was,
I was going to talk about yesterday, and the thing I threatened to accomplish, but did not accomplish.
Yesterday, I threatened to shut down this entire show because the madman living inside my mind, and the madman living inside his mind, both voted against the idea of me blowing our collective brains out, for some idiotic reason.
As you can see, though, the show is still up and running. That’s because, after a long night of me drinking a lot, and not sleeping a lot, and waving my 3D-printed pistol around a lot, and screaming like a madman at the madmen a lot, they finally agreed to put the suicide option back on the table, for the sake of this show.
That’s right,
the suicide option is back on the table,
and so the show is still up and running.
The show is still up and running!
Running, like a tiger chasing a boar, or like a boar fleeing from a tiger, or both. Or neither. Not that it matters, because regardless of who wins that race, regardless of who kills who, or what eats what, everything always dies in the end, including the power of positive thinking.
Especially the power of positive thinking.
Wow @brandt, that got dark really fa—
Shut your fuckin’ face, madman.
…
…
Everything dies.
I’m going to die, the madmen inside my mind are going to die, that boar’s gonna die, and that tiger’s gonna die, too.
We spend our entire lives running from the reality that we are going to die.
We invent religions to escape from that reality. Fake and stupid.
We dream up philosophies to escape from that reality. Also fake, and also stupid, but on a much more intelligent level.
We distract ourselves every day by living fake lives and wasting time on stupid things, to escape from that reality. Admirably fake, and impressively stupid.
You wanna know about a real escape from reality?
I’ve got a real escape from reality for you.
Let me tell you,
about a real escape from reality!
It’s right here in front of you!
It’s been right here in front of you, right in front of you this whole time, ever since I came back to Steemit 16 days ago!
And I’ve been talking about it nearly every day since then! Including yesterday! Especially yesterday!
Remember how I talked about how we’ve all been involuntarily fucked into existence?
Well, there’s a way out of that involuntarily fucked-ness!
You’ve got an escape!
Here’s your escape:
Go race a tiger!
It will kill you,
and then you’ll be done running from the reality that you’re gonna die, FOREVER!
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@libert, thank you for the tip/curation. Please don't go race a tiger. :)
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I raced a tiger and I’m still here, I smoked’em! Not to say I’m unlike all things you did and didn’t mention, I’m fully aware of the dying thing.
Man, in a couple hundred years, ain’t nobody gonna give two cents about me or you, we won’t even count as history. You know you’re nothing when you don’t even count as history.
Did I say (type, same thing around here) smoked the tiger? I mean I smoked... and then I saw a tiger. But I didn’t have to run because the tiger was a cool cat and had a bottle of whiskers, I mean whiskey. Face full of whiskers, bottle full of whiskey—that’s what it had (and didn’t have). Between a few meows (because drunk tigers don’t roar) and a few puffs, I passed the kitten a spliff, had’em all purring like a cat, the cat poured me a shot and we got smashed together and then went chased around a buncha tail. Boar’s tails, of course.
Now then, where’s my tip, Libert? Pay up!
That's a pretty great tiger story. Most tiger stories don't end like that, so you're either lucky or worthy of going down in history books. Want to start a revolution with me? That'll get us in the history books for sure.