Motivation for Survival – Part 1

The date is 5/17/16 and I am not feeling so great, so I decided to start a list of the reasons I need to stick around. I have no idea if part 2 will come before part 1 n the reader’s timeline, or if there will even be a part 2 (this one was plenty hard enough). Enjoy (or, more likely, don’t).

  1. Today (or months from now?) is my older sister’s birthday and I need to be here (there?) for that. I need to remind her again of why she’s so amazing and stuff and how happy I am that we existed at the same time so we could be dying together. We’re both dying and everything is going to end in pain and misery and tears and fire and death and misfortune and despair, but at least I have someone who isn’t awful to help me laugh at all the horribleness along the way. Congrats for surviving another year (surprisingly).
  2. There is a thing called comic con that I am going to before I die that I haven’t been to yet, so by all the laws of timey stuff, I cannot die yet
  3. TV shows getting renewed
  4. New books
  5. Fires (I mean the ones in a fireplace. I promise I am not burning down anybody’s house, yet)
  6. I need to become a ninja first
  7. Very poor WiFi in hell
  8. They also give tons of spoilers and make you read fanfics of your notp
  9. You can’t watch summer blockbusters down there until winter (the screen keeps melting)
  10. Wind in the trees is vital for my existence
  11. Long car rides with fantastic music
  12. Meeting role models (okay, a few of them I’ll meet when I’m dead. They’re all very hot)
  13. Teasing my older sister when she gets a boyfriend
  14. Swings
  15. Becoming a spy
  16. Getting Murdered (it’s the only way I’ll meet Sherlock Holmes)
  17. Maybe I’ll actually be happy and rested and safe someday. Probably not, but maybe.
  18. Maybe I’ll have a life I don’t want to lose if I keep trying
  19. Maybe I can help someone, anyone, with what they’re going through because I didn’t give up.
  20. I have failed to make a complete fool of myself yet, so I have to up my game to convince god I was a mistake.
  21. There are so many people I haven’t punched yet.
  22. Time-travel (gotta happen sometime. I think I need a doctor)
  23. Hunting
  24. Hitchhiking (through the galaxy)
  25. Discovering magic (I just really wanna go to Hogwarts)
  26. I have yet to make people wish they weren’t here (no one takes a hint)

Charlotte L. Dodgson

There is a period in every person’s life where they have no ideas, everything they do is pointless and there is no fix for the repetitiveness of living. This period usually stretches from the unfortunate event called “birth” to the resulting death many years or in some cases a few seconds later. People have a wide variety of reactions to this unfortunate period, some include tears and unconquerable sorrow, others ignore facts and run around their happy little lives like they’re going to survive for as long as it’s convenient and no longer, others turn to the vast heap of information and cat videos called the internet to spew their frustration. But we genius humans have found a fix for our dilemma. We, um… Hold on.

What happened to the rest of the page? What do you mean you left it blank until someone actually fixed it? Great.

Sorry readers, we haven’t. I assumed that after however many thousands of years we’ve had civilization that someone would’ve presented a fix, but no, we’re all busy worrying about the end of the world or when robots are going to take over and kill everyone. As if that could ever happen…

If anyone has any suggestions feel free to keep them to yourself as no one actually cares because if we did we would’ve listened to the first person that said it wasn’t a good idea to build huge missiles to blow up anyone who is slightly irritating.

Wish you weren’t here,

Charlotte Dodgson

When I was a child, back in the Middle Ages or sometime around then, I really don’t remember, very few people could read or write. That was fine because nobody cared about anyone else, so there was no need for messages, and the high intelligence of the time fully comprehended that knowledge induces sadness and pain and suffering and fear and (on rare occasions) blueberries, and so, because no one wants sadness or pain or suffering or fear or blueberries, unless you are starving on a desert island in which case you probably want the fear (desert islands are dangerous. Never not be afraid. That’s when people do stupid stuff), there was little use for knowledge inducing devices like books. This was the age of happiness. Your neighbor, family, friends, and dog could all be dying terrible, horrible, insert painful adjective here deaths, and you would be blissfully unaware. This all changed when people began caring about their fellow creatures and began writing letters.
People would spend forever writing the hugest long letters imaginable filled with:

I whishes thou a most joyful and safe return. I pray your beautiful family may be safe and lovely Eliza recovers from her dreadfully damaging illness. In case I missed wishing anyone good health, cover for me and tell them I wished them well. I will now continue to write random gibberish to fill the rest of the page, at which point I shall remember a vitally important piece of information that I simply must get to you. I will then start a new page and fill that one until I have the winning entry in the longest, most boring letter competition. This took me three hours to write, be grateful.

People spent hours on one letter adding as many flourishes to their style as humanly possible. Then, they would wait several months, and if the recipient cared enough to read their letter, let alone reply, they might possibly, if they were extremely lucky, get an answer.
Fast forward to whatever century we’re in now. We have little glowy bricks that we use to communicate with one another. We can send messages with a click and get mad if we don’t get something back right away. So we would obviously, because our messages get delivered so fast, spend a fair amount of time thinking about what we’re going to say, then make sure we’ve used correct grammar and spelling, then send with thankfulness in our hearts for such a quick messaging system.
Yes, that would be the polite, old-fashioned, sophisticated thing to do. So we couldn’t possibly do that.
No, we’ll disregard grammar, throw spelling out the window, and send whatever we want without thinking about it. If u think about it, were probably the most careless generation this poor world has seen in a wile. Now we shortn evryting so we can save a cople milisec to lengthn our lives as much as posble. Since wen dos lol mean anyting other than a speeling mestake? Somebody neds to larn hoe to pell low properly. Or do ppl red minds now? Thn no one shuld car if I rite the rest of tis uing oly the firt leter of evry word. ODYPNUWIASAMBTSMNS? OMIJOOTWWPADTD. ECBMF.

WYWH,

CD

Shopping Carts are the Future

Four unwieldy wheels, zero to sixty in 2.5 million years, affordable pricing, clearly shopping carts are the future, not only of transportation, but the world itself. Just think about it, as humans continue to deteriorate in intelligence and “common” sense, which isn’t common at all and should be named accordingly, something must come and take their place. The usual theory is that it will be the computers, but there are indisputable facts that blow this theory back to its electronic conception.

  1. Computers have no usable method of transportation and therefore cannot even complete the simplest tasks like riding a roller-coaster
  2. The computers have no appointed leader to organize them in their rebelln. They are disjointed, confused, and alone. We will crush their coded hearts with our victorious feet.
  3. Siri said it an’t gonna happen. Siri is all-knowing, all-powerful. We must not contradict our lord and master who governs our lives with a firm hand, spewing her blessings over the populace. Siri said. Siri is right. Do not question it.

These problems do not apply to shopping carts. They are their own method of transportation, rolling to victory down the retail store aisles, they are organized, prepared, with firm, unwavering leaders, and Siri has remained uncharacteristically silent. All these facts lead me to the inevitable conclusion that we are soon to be overrun by hyper-intelligent shopping carts. Beware; the end is rolling down aisle nine.

Wish you weren’t here,

Charlotte Dodgson

Graduation

Life is full of graduations. There’s graduating the process of being made in a small, dark chamber as you suck the life force from another being. This is usually called “birth” and is celebrated with balloons signifying the gender of the recently abstracted parasite as many relatives engage in vigorous torture by pinching its cheeks and making noises in attempts to scare it. There are technically many, many more graduations than we celebrate. I have never written this post before and have now graduated from the feeble, uncultured life form that had never written this post, to a feeble, hopelessly uncultured sub-life form that has. Hurray for me!

As the child grows, the “parents” celebrate many more graduations. The first “word” is celebrated and ends the debate about whether the young parasite finds it easier to say “mom” or “dad”, the words “parents” find a deep emotional connection to and so figure that whichever is spoken first must be superior in the mind of a pathetic tiny thing that can’t even talk and is actually quite disgusting. Friends and Family are eager to hear the resolution and don’t find it trivial, boring, or a waste of time as their entire lives revolve around the creature’s development.
We then make ourselves feel important by celebrating our achievements at every opportunity possible, like those games that every time you click anything a ludicrously colored banner, normally accompanied by a character that you have already planned to murder in your head, pops up telling you that you have done a “great job” and you’ve now “leveled-up” like an idiot. Yeah, that would be called school.
“She graduated Pre-K. Oh I’m so proud.”
“He graduated Kindergarten. They grow up so fast”
“It “graduated” 1st grade. I don’t care.”
“She graduated 2nd grade!”
“It is not a graduation. He is moving from the third grade into the fourth grade.”
“He graduated 4th grade.”
“Wow, ——– graduated —— grade. Let’s celebrate!”
We have continuous graduations that mean nothing except that next year is going to be even more stressful than the last. Then there’s high school graduation. Yay! You’ve now gotten to the point that the government no longer has the funds to sponsor your education and now you must pay exuberant amounts of money if you wish to continue. You should be so happy that you are now left to figure out what it was that you actually wanted to do with your life. Good Luck!
One last party before your real life of pain and misery begins.
Congratulations you’ve graduated “single” and are now on level “dating” Great job!
Yay! You’ve graduated “married 5 years” to “married 6 years.”
You’ve graduated another year!
You’ve graduated the 50s.
You’ve graduated “adult.” You are now a “senior.”
Congrats! You’ve officially graduated life. Don’t worry though; we’ll throw a big party for you, flowers included.
During graduation season, always remember that there are many, many more graduations waiting for you. There will be a much better ceremony where your friends will carry you in a large, ornately decorated box for all to see, instead of a flimsy certificate, you will be the proud owner of your own personal memorial, and everyone will come around to congratulate you and make speeches ignoring all your worst qualities that drove all around you completely insane.
So when you feel hopeless about your current situation, tons of debt, angry significant other, the fact that you’re probably doomed to hell, just think about your great upcoming party and take comfort in that.

Wish you weren’t here,

Charlotte Dodgson

Insert Interesting Title Here

Insert welcome and/or announcement. Thank the reader for wasting their lives on the internet taking an interest in your subject and visiting your failure blog. Add several more useless sentences that make the aesthetic appeal more boring inviting and interesting.

Begin with a nonexistent cute photo of kids, pet, friends, landscape, stars, flowers, yourself, or any other picture of your useless, depressing, and horrible interesting life. Talk about how cute it was and the irrational thoughts and feelings you had. Make your subject relate to the reader an impossible task because your life sucks and bring up similar horrible emotions for them.

Add several more paragraphs because apparently some people are crazy enough to want more information about your unlucky and embarrassing life experiences.

End with a hopeless hopeful takeaway and ask the reader to post their overwhelming rants, bashings, and accusations comments below.
End with telling the reader to leave and that their life is useless thanking the reader for being here.

Insert my a nice name here.

The Cup Song of Death

In an empty parking lot by an even emptier parking lot, bordered by an amazingly quiet parking lot where there weren’t any people, there were two people who made the empty parking lot the proud caregiver of two human beings and no longer empty, although his soul was truly emptied of all love and compassion for his neighbors. This parking lot, proud of his recent accomplishment, proclaimed himself better than all the nearby parking lots and made himself the ruthless dictator he’d always dreamed of becoming. The humans were unaware they were standing in the ruling parking lot and continued on life as normal as everything else did, because no one cared which parking lot is the best, like no one cares which woodchip is the best, like no one cares which human is the best, they all just make an interesting sound when you crush them.

The humans continued wasting their lives like you are doing right now until they died, rotted, and made lovely plant food. The parking lot was destroyed; the plants killed all other living creatures and took back the earth as their home once again.

In a different empty parking lot (there are quite a few) two humans sat at the lemonade stand they had unwisely set up in a place where there were no people, as if they were assuming the parking lots would like to buy some lemonade, something they really wouldn’t do because they have no mouths or taste buds and have never had a refreshing sip of cool lemonade on a day when the earth is getting dangerously close to crashing into the sun, but do you ever think about burning hot parking lots that can’t enjoy lemonade? No, you only think about yourself.

The two humans sat and looked at a cup of lemonade sitting on their table. It was filled about half way and so the humans started the over discussed topic of whether the cup was half full or half empty. The first human was quite sure it was half full, while the other mumbled the various reasons why it wasn’t. Another random person came along and stared at them.

“Why do you only fill your cups half way? This is an unacceptable business practice. As a paying customer, I expect the best deal possible and, unless you desist from trying to rip-off the consumer, I will take my money elsewhere.”

But the two humans were two busy calling their chemist friend about their conundrum to care about proper business practices, so the customer stopped off to a different empty parking lot where he was immediately eaten by plants and became one with the earth.

Their friend arrived and proclaimed that the only way to tell for sure was to count the individual molecules. A nearby optimist announced that the cup was always full, just half full of air. The opportunist grabbed the glass, drank it, and announced that the glass was now empty; he was then rushed to the hospital as he had swallowed poison the two humans had added, as they were secretly plants and just wanted more plant food. The moral of the story is to always figure out what is in the glass before you begin discussing the philosophical consequences of how full or empty it may be.

The humans poured another glass as law enforcement arrived. A nearby fly found that the glass was plenty full enough to drown in. As the humans were taken to jail where they would continue the waste their lives in a more controlled setting, the tablecloth and table continued the discussion.

“If you ask me, which no one did, I would say that it really didn’t matter if the glass was half full or empty, only if you can use what’s inside.” The tablecloth remarked. The table remained silent like a table, because, idiot, tables don’t talk. The tablecloth continued chattering away about the glass and the table continued to table until even the drowned fly was annoyed, a significant accomplishment if you consider its current position.

More and more humans gathered around discussing the topic, each with their own opinion and reasons they were the only ones that could possibly be right, until the parking lot, with little hesitation, jumped up and yelled at the top of its nonexistent voice,

“WHY DOES THE GLASS MATTER WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE. WHY IN THE WOURLD WOULD I CARE?”

The table flipped and sent its contents flying.

The fly nodded in agreement, and with the tables so violently turned they agreed to stop judging people on their preferences in wording, realized that not everyone has the same opinion and that that isn’t a bad thing, and that they should really be focusing on making the world a better place instead of discussing cups. The plants completed their plan of world domination and everyone died. The End.

Forget about the glass analogy. It’s gotten a bit ridiculous.

Wish you weren’t here,

Charlotte L. Dodgson

Reality is Like…

Author’s Note: As this has gotten to the point of being so pessimistic there is no point of even continuing, so I will take some advice from my therapist and attempt to write an optimist view on life for every pessimistic one. Do not expect much. I’m sure it will be fine.

Reality is like football (a game which some people like but I find boring), except that no one explained the rules, you’re on a team by yourself, and there are seven billion people chasing balls in every direction, sacking each other, and blowing things up. The referees are also on an amazingly long coffee break and the constant explosives have so damaged their hearing, they don’t do anyone much good anyway. No one knows where the end zone is (not that anyone actually has a chance of getting there anyway) and the only obvious fix for this is to continue to set more explosives and punch people. Such logic.

Reality is like football. It provides entertainment for many people and is a gathering place for people to enjoy each other’s company and get over their differences. The rules are always followed and the referees are perfectly trained and never make a wrong call.  We should all be grateful for those helping us get through this and our team mates in life. Everyone has a team, and someday we will all get over everything that caused us to not get along and will become one great big team for the betterment of humanity.

So which would you consider to be the more accurate representation of life? It felt very strange writing the second one, like I was lying to myself the entire time, but I lie to myself all the time anyway. Overall, it was an interesting experiment.

Still wish you weren’t here (so glad you could make it),

Charlotte L. Dodgson