As we grow up we are indoctrinated with the idea that we need a life plan, two life plans, in fact. One major career goal and one backup in-case the first one doesn’t work out. I went thought many major career goals as I grew: Stunt man, hockey player, wrestler, standup comedian, chef, and writer. As of right now I am in writer mode, but who knows what it will be tomorrow?
For as much as I focused on my major goal, I can’t help but favor my back up. My back up is a dream that I’ve so dearly wanted to attain for as far back as I can remember. It is, I admit, a rather lofty goal — one that only a select few ever accomplish. It is that which my hopes and desirers cling to. If I were not to fulfill it, it will be my only regret as I lay sickly and trembling on my death bed.
I want to find a suit case full of money.
A lot of money.
I want to find the kind of suit case full of money that you see in the movies. The ones that are loaded with 50 million dollars and you’re like, “There’s no way fifty-million dollars would fit in that samsonite.” I want that suit case. The one impossibly loaded with an exorbitant sum of cash.
If college offered a degree in suit case full of money location I’d be all over that shit. I’d ace all my divining rod test and I’d eventually get my masters – nay, doctorate! – in the field of finding suit cases of cash that are just laying around for no particular reason.
Some say that my dream is an impossible dream, but “they” just don’t get it. “They” think that “I” just want to take the easy way out; that “I” just want to “cruse” through “life” without paying any “dues.” They say I have some false sense of “entitlement.” Well, “they” couldn’t be further from the truth. I want to work for my suit case full of money. I want to claw and scratch and dig and fight for it. I want a badass rainbow coalition of samurai drug lords to trace the suitcase full of money back to me. I want them to try to get it back. I want them to try to kill me for it. I want them to lose.
As soon as I make it home after locating my suit case full of money I want to encounter a totally flay-ass honey crying in my liqueur bottle strewn apartment. I want her to be all like, “They killed my family!” Then we sex. Hard. I sex all of her naughty holes. I sex them so hard that she’s all like, “No! NO! Don’t sex them so hard!” and I’m all like, “But I have to avenge my FAMILY! ARRRGHHH!!” But I don’t even have a family, at least not one that needs avenging. Joke’s on her. Then she thinks, “Wow! This guy is, like, totally sensitive and junk!” She says, “Sex me! Sex me as hard as you can!!” And I do. Hard. I sex her all over the place and I’m all like, “Yeeeeeeeeaaahhh.”
Just as I’m done with the sexing (whether she’s done, I care not) two samurai drug lords burst in with machine gun laser katanas. I back flip out of M’lady’s naughty holes, land behind the machine gun laser katana toting samurai drug lords and I’m all raspy saying, “Was it good for you?” I punch their faces. They explode. M’lady holds me close, frightened.
Shit just got real.
We sex again. Hard.
Me, M’lady and M’suit case full o‘money huff it to Tanzania, because the bad guys that want my suit case full of money live there. After I stealthily punchsplode some unsuspecting guards and we make it in to the masterminds’ chambers.
The Mastermind is a space cyborg from 3 years in the future and 5 years in the past. He tells me that he came to warn me that the future sucks and then tells me – in vivid detail – about how it’s all f*cked up and stuff. I’m like “damn.”
We sex. M’lady and I, I mean. The space cyborg from the future and past just watches.
Once the sex has ceased, the space cyborg mastermind from the future and past (and by now I’ve realized that he’s from the present too) tells me that he was supposed to take me back to the future and stop all the sucky f*cked up shit from going down. But he’s all like “F*ck that wack shit! I like the shit the way it is! F*cked up, sucky, as well as complete shit!”
“This is where we fight. Time travel says so!”
And I’m like, “Totally!”
“I hate adverbs!” he says angrily.
We fight. It’s crazy. Explosions, punches, I summon a planet to crush him like some bonkers Final Fantasy shit. It’s nuts. Finally, I punch him so hard that he explodes…IN THE FUTURE! He explodes so hard that it fixes all the f*cked up sucky shit in the future, past, and present. I’m a hero within three different places on the space-time continuum.
We sex. Hard. Me and time, that is.
But then I see that M’lady was injured during the fracas. Something about her body is messed up. I don’t know what it is. She’s all like, “My mind is vortexing!!” I’m sad. Then angry. Then sad again. Then I yell “Kimberly!!!” and she’s like “My name is Grace…ahhhh! The vortexing!!” I’m like “Stacy!! Noooo!!!”
She dies. We no sex.
In a totally batshit turn of events, it turns out that she was the future and I punchsploded the mastermind into her mind and exploded him in her mind, thus causing the irksome vortexing. Her head sucks in and violently explodes future brain jelly all over my dope-ass threads.
We sex. Gently. She’s dead and we want to make it mean something.
When I’m done with the sexing I wipe away the tears and smile. I pick up my suit case full of money and leave – leave to a better life.
You may call it an impossible dream and, you know what? You may be right. But that’s why it’s my backup. Duh.