There’s so much going on in the world, so much to talk about, but the only question I ever get asked is this: “What are you going to do with your life?” Let’s settle this once and for all. I really only see two fantastic options:
In the first, I’m just going to go walking. I’ll sell everything and just walk away and keep walking until I turn 25. At which point I’ll write a book about my experiences traversing America’s highways. It becomes a minor sleeper hit and the New York Times is impressed with my wry observations on the sauntering life and recommends it to everyone looking for insight into the human condition and the state of the American soul. I take my modest profits and buy a small plot of land in the forest wilderness where I can erect a sparse log cabin to live out the rest of my days. It’s got a cozy loft and quaint fireplace, but no plumbing. I only wear Carhartt and never shave so that my beard is inevitably full of saltine cracker crumbs. Unfortunately for my literary career, having failed to buy either shotgun or door lock, I am mauled by a grizzly bear while eating a bowl of blueberries. My death at 26 surprises none of my friends. Book sales double in the first month after the funeral despite The Washington Post misspelling its title in my obituary.
If things don’t quite work out, I’ll have to revert to my climb-Mount-Everest plan. This one entails spending considerable time acquiring corporate sponsorship so I can afford the costs of training, equipment, climbing license, etc. Converse, once an eager partner, has to back out when they are unable to manufacture Chuck Taylor All-Stars that are suitable for ice hiking. Google is more than happy to take over after they discover that, at the age of 23, I was the thirty-ninth most active user of their popular search engine. It only takes me 10 months to shed my fastfood pounds and become Everest-ready. Google flag in hand, I summit Everest in 12 hours but shock the company by hurtling myself off the top and plummeting down the Tibetan face. My death at 26 surprises none of my friends. Google is not amused and the public backlash against the company creates a marketing nightmare. Google’s stock only recovers upon announcing their acquisition of the Republic of Madagascar.