The Randomist

I should get an award for the creativity of my own self-inflicted injuries. I should also be given a medal of honor for the bravery I have shown by getting out of bed every day considering the luck I have. A quick look back through the years has left me astounded by the number of ways I’ve found to hurt myself or be hurt in ways that really shouldn’t happen. My first clear memory is from when I was two. Now, most people don’t remember much from their toddler days and many say that I’m making it up, but I’m sure the only reason I remember it is because it probably caused severe brain damage which I now blame for everything else. It was a cool and windy spring day. Two-year old me eyed the fold up pool chair from the front door. You know, the kind that seems to be woven from jelly bracelets and is long enough to accommodate an adult body. I wanted this chair. I wanted my tiny body on it and I wanted it bad. I scrambled out the door and wiggled my way into the perfect toddler su...

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. What the FUCK is that NOISE?!? Oh wait, that’s right. That’s just my BIOLOGICAL CLOCK TICKING! (Side note: why does no one ever say its tocking?) But seriously. How can this be happening? I’m only TWENTY THREE!!!! There are a multitude of reasons why this shouldn’t be happening to me right now. I’m not even going to try to list them all at this point except the most obvious, which is… I’m poor. No, seriously. I really am. I’m still like a small child… that smokes, drinks, and cusses like a sailor, but the point is… As mature as I am, I am still WAY too immature to procreate right now. I can’t even afford myself the majority of the time, so what the hell would I do with an extra human lying around? Unlike me, the baby could not subsist on cigarettes, Coke, and Velveeta shells and cheese for long periods of time. They need new clothes every five and half minutes because they either A.) Soil themselves in some fashion or B.) Have grown a...