Reclaim Your Wasted Time
So it didn’t work out. So you wasted 6 mos / 1 year / 1 year and 1 half / your entire life and now have nothing to show for it. So you’re haunted by The Things You Did And Didn’t Do, both the actual things and the song requiemming them.1 What are you going to do about it? You could get mad– at yourself, at them, at the homosexual agenda for not destroying the institution of marriage (and with it, the monogamous relationship) sooner.2
But none of these will do any good. Your time has already been wasted, and with that waste3 comes pomfrets: the delicious french fried school of time-nibbling fishes– particles, actually– that are ionized from the decay of wasted time!
These particles affix to receptors in the brain, instilling a false sense of sub-euphoric placidity. As more time is wasted, more particles collect in your brian, and new levels of non-discontentedness are reached. Life becomes steady, sufficient. Your internal clock is slow-wound. Years pass to no benefit or accomplishment but you don’t notice.
Eventually too many particles build up in your brain and the whole thing bursts in a chroneurysm. The hands of your internal clock snap forward to their rightful place in an instant, skipping over weeks, months, years. The resulting shift is accompanied by outgassed seeps of panic and anxiety. Inert time bubbles deep suffocating regret upon your full realization of exactly what you’ve lost.4
In order to recover, the time you converted into (complete, utter) waste must be treated, converted back into clean memories through one of the reclamation processes listed below. MUST.
Embrace the things you did do; don’t regret the things you didn’t
Dumb. The things you did, fatalistically speaking, were the bare minimum that could have happened,6 and the things you didn’t do will always, always be your fault.7
Embrace the things you didn’t do; negate the things you did
Getting better. It’s best not to embrace the things you did as you will soon realize how truly few they really were. For such a significant chunk of your life, how few moments you were able to cultivate/birth. 26, 28 tops. Furthermore, you’ll have to face just how underwhelming most of those moments actually are when removed from the context of your mutual affection. AND, triple whammy,8 the genuinely incredible, god is great, life-validating moments will loom even larger in comparison and eclipse your still-wasting life. Best to let all of that decay.9
By holding on to your regrets and weaving them into a kind of heavy, mutli-pelt (non-matching, poorly sewn) winter coat, you can insulate yourself from potential human suitors/suitresses, thus protecting yourself from ever having regrets again.
Did you do anything you regret too much?
Reverse do it! Literally! Whatever it was you did, do exactly that but backwards! Serious!
Note: I’ve been advised by my attorney to insist that you first fully consider what this would actually entail and how your actions would affect those around you and also to not ever reverse do anything under any circumstances ever.
Start living double time
One path to reclamation is to live your life double hard until you’ve made up for lost time. Would you have had three drinks that night? Have six! Would you have driven five mph over the speed limit in order to make it home in time for 30 rock? Drive sixty mph over the speed limit!10 In order to make it home in time for 60 rocks! Would you have had sex twice? Jerk off two hundred and thirty eight times.11
Once you’ve done this for half the life of your relationship you will have completely caught up with all the time you lost! Now to recapture the time you lost while recapturing your lost time, repeat for 1/4th the life of the relationship. Then 1/8th. Then 1/16th. Then zig instead of zag and live five times as hard for 1/17th the life of the relationship. Ha! Suck it, Zeno. Paradox? More like Pair-a-dicks! In your mouth!12
It was all an elaborate rube goldberg device by which your initial kiss was converted, over 10,000 steps, into a pile of shit
Just say it. Like you mean it. Over and Over.
Rowling. Build that Rube Goldberg machine– a replica of every step from your first kiss to your last– set it up, and watch it play out/fecalchemize your own stupid life. Keep on doing it until it seems like a dumb thing to do OR attracts huge swarms of flies. Gross. Spit, spit. Eww-uuhghg. PFppfpfpt.
Convert it into your own dumb art
See: this. Please!
By creating your own dumb art you snag a spot in the nation’s Giant Fame Raffle. It doesn’t matter the quality of what you make, if your number is drawn you get your ticket punched for a one-way trip to fetishistic panvisibility. Now more than a person, your every action will be monitored and decoded for its secret meaning. Your very image will become content. Your secret parts will become exponentially more lucrative than their non-famous equivalents– make sure you store away a cache of pix or a fuck tape of some sort while you’re at your peak. That way, if you are ever in need of a quick bump of notoriety or some emergency royalties, you can leak it to some internet creep for a sweet payoff plus a side of plausible deniability. Sure, it seems unseemly now, but compared to what your hard-times future self will be willing to do just to be all-seen and all-sought one last time…
Protip: Keep in mind the degradation inflation index– 50 years ago in-context titties was hot-blooded stuff, by 2020 even full penetration with wide release will be de rigueur.13
Being famous is still the best thing you can be alongside being fuckdickulously rich. Doing so means you (finally) get to have sex with not only 9s and 10s, but the 11s science has genetically engineered both soft (breeding & punnet squares) and hard (airplane glue + scotch tape vs. the human genome) as well as the exotic hyper-12s that willed themselves into existence . We’re still not sure how, when, or most frighteningly why they decided to come into our world, but have been assured that when the time comes the truth will be unmistakable. Now that I write that down it does seem less than reassuring, but believe me– when you hear it from their trans-sapphire eyes…14
In addition to the grossly inflated value of your junk bonds and all the 6 dimensional tail that can get you, you also earn TrueCitizenship and the privilege to actually participate in democracy. Did you know that, contrary to popular myth, the Electoral College is actually made up entirely of American Express Black Card holders? It’s true! They’re apportioned to states based on their likelihood of voting Republican or Democrat in order to legitimize the delegate/super-delegate cover story. Good news, Rhode Island– Jay-Z represents!
Try to make your ex famous
It seems counter-intuitive that you would throw good time after bad to try to help this person, but by making your ex famous you will a) have slept with a famous person and b) much like chlamydia, fame can be transmitted through your simple syrup.
Maybe you can claim you were the inspiration for their great work/s and then you too will be a celebrity of sorts for having not just basted in their juices, but having gotten them flowing.
The fact that you did all the heavy lifting getting them their record deal / book published / dozens of victims will make this play all the more believable. If they’re not a total asshole, they’ll even thank you in the liner notes / foreword / arraignment. Note: these are funnier if you read them in a robovoice in your head. Go ahead. Try it!
“I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure it’s 2008. *checks iPhone* Yep! 2008! It has a third G– it wouldn’t lie to me. Ha , ha , ha. Jokes! Now time to take my pension for granted and get a refinance on my mortgage. That Michael Phelps sure has a long torso, right? But I Hear It Is Why He’s So Good At Swimming! Uh… Change we can believe in!”
Chalk it up to experience
By taking a piece of chalk and using it to trace the shape of the time you’ve lost so begins the ritual by which you sacrifice this lost time to the madaltdemon, Experience. Ek skktg og tok gljjnd skd prggjkes!1
2. Thanks a lot, Human Rights Campaign– maybe next time try making your campaign donations contingent on the achievement of actual results!
3. used unproductively, used productively towards ultimately worthless ends, when excited by radiation
4. 0.9 / 1.7 repeating / 2 and 2/3 / 100% of your fucking life5
5. Did you figure out when you die? Sorry!
6. granted also bare maximum, but who wants to be that vulnerable AND you don’t tell me what to wear you’re not my father? (Why’s dad telling me to get nude? Why’s dad telling me what to wear)
7. you’re the only one here, who the fuck else’s fault do you think it could be?
8. the one with the steamroller, the Michael Jackson one, the one that offers you flowers because it loves you
9. don’t worry, moments don’t give off pomfrets. They rot like orange peels, dissolve like starlight mints. Time poisons, moments compost or dissipate into minty spit. Keep it like a secret.
10. how much was the speed limit?
11. 1 copulation = 119 hand-made
12. I’m sorry Zeno. I should not have used gayness as an assumed aspersion. It’s not fair to you, and it’s especially not fair to the gay community. While I do get keyed-up whenever I totally thwomp a paradox, that is no excuse for my behavior. Pair-a-dicks? More like Pair-a-discs: I made you these mixtapes as an apology.
13. note: given the trend of increasing media savviness, you can expect that your vaulted pix/primarily softcore sextape will actually not decrease in value as much as one would expect. The audience will be aware of how much more this meant in its historical context (and even if they aren’t, they will for 1-3 media cycles be inescapably reminded as much by the CNNs, FoxNBCs, and Doritos presents The New Yorkers) and appreciate that fact. With their dicks.
14. they seem to have a weird fixation on our hydrogen sulfate supply, but I’m sure that will come to nothing.
15. Ekspkrnjjs!! EKSPKRNJJSKLL!!!! KLLEKSPKRNJJSKKLLLLL!!!!!!!