For most people, being in your twenties means being poor and trying new things. But mostly just being poor. Sometimes, you’ll wake up from a sort of sweat-soaked fever dream, thinking you can hear God, when really it’s just your kung-pow chicken that is speaking to you.
“Why are you so happy when everything is so shitty?” he says.
But before you can answer, he tells you that everything is awful and that you should be miserable. He reminds you of your student loan debt and of rising gas prices and that Chris Martin of Coldplay is still alive. And every once in a while you get a particularly profound epiphany that changes the way you view the world.
Matt Rimer is a writer living in Boston. Follow him on Twitter here.
You Aren't Special
When you were a little kid, your mom would probably give you a raspberry on your tummy and tell you that you were the most unique, gifted little boy in the whole wide world. You were her perfect angel and every time you so much as blinked, it was the most precious, prodigal, immaculate thing since Jesus Christ invented sliced bread. You probably still think you’re special, even today in your twenties.
Here’s a news flash for you, Walter Cronkite: you aren’t. See, this article isn’t even special, it just rips off lines from Zoolander. Oh, you can play the ukulele and you know all of the words to “The Bad Touch” by Bloodhound Gang and you got a handjob in an Applebee’s bathroom once? Well, with over seven billion people in the world, there’s bound to be at least one other jamoke who’s done all that stuff too.
People Only Interact With You When They Want Something
Homeless dudes don’t approach you because they want to talk about Breaking Bad, it’s because they want your change. A girl won’t date a guy to make him happy—it’s to make herself happy. Even if somebody saves your life, he doesn’t do it for you. He does it so he won’t have a dead guy on his conscious or because he’d like to think that people would do the same for him in that situation, and the thought that somebody wouldn’t scares the shit out of him. Or maybe he likes to go home and jerk off to the thought of being a hero. You’re pretty much alone in the world, Four Pins reader. But hey, if you ever need somebody to talk to, I’ll be here, bro (because I want you to follow me on twitter).
Scarface Is Bad For Your Health
Alright, so a quick digression from being morbid. My ass is straight up chapped about this one. I used to love Scarface when I was younger, but I’ve come to realize that it’s more destructive to the American people than a Denny’s Grand Slam is on my self-esteem. I legit hate myself.
Scarface turns douchebags into giant, Tap-out shirt wearing, Entourage watching, super douche-nozzles who like to speed in residential neighborhoods while talking on their Bluetooth to their friend Chaz and reading Maxim magazine and giving little kids the finger. True story: A guy I worked with in my past used to run his rim-adorned Honda for about forty five minutes at a time, without driving it, spewing carbon dioxide into the ozone, all while playing Scarface on his built in DVD player. Class act, folks.
Your Dreams Are Laughably Unattainable
You want to write for The New York Times? You want to be a professional photographer? No? You just want a steady job with benefits and upward mobility? Bahahaha! You’re kidding right? This is 2013. You have a better chance of making eggs Benedict Cumberbatch with Fabregé eggs than you do of getting a legitimate job. How about you take what we give you and stop being such a spoiled little bitch about it?
Luck Is More Important Than Talent
Everybody is talented. If you aren’t good at anything then that’s a whole other issue. Like, what the hell have you spent your time doing? There are only so many episodes of Rescue Me you can watch on Netflix.
Anyway, I’m going to work under the assumption that you’re talented at something. Talent doesn’t mean anything in the real world. You just have to leave things up to fate and hope you don’t wind up cleaning the toilets in Grand Central Station with a toothbrush. The only exception to this rule is if you know someone who can hook you up. What up, Jake Woolf? (Totally unrelated).
You're Slowly Creeping Towards Your Inevitable Death
Humans are designed by nature to reproduce in their teens and early twenties. This is when we peak both physically and sexually. But after that? Your body just starts to straight up decay like that time-lapse fox in the True Blood credits. It’s pretty much nature’s way of telling you that you’ve outlived your usefulness and you need to hurry up and die and get the fuck off of this planet so some more useful beings can bang and wear backwards hats. Naturally we resist this process and wear man-spanks and get calf implants and use Just For Men: Touch of Grey for our pubes, but the truth is we’re all just rotting away on the inside. Have a good one, guys!