May 2007

May 1, 2007
When Buddha said all of this life is suffering, he was NOT fucking around. I mean to tell you, if you're just clambering atop of this unwieldy and unyielding life (Electric word, life. It means forever and that's a mighty long time.), all wet behind the ears and bushy-tailed, all eager-beavered and wide-eyed, just cresting the heady wave that life proffers when you're achieving some major accomplishment - say, your high school graduation, all proud and embarrassed in your cap and gown, your college graduation, the very picture of pride and self-consciousness in your cap and gown, your wedding, your first real job, your next wedding, your child's birth, your bar, your bat mitzvah, your coming out party, your debutante ball, your little league 2 and 3/4 home runs game - the other team's coach handing you the game ball with nodding affirmation, your first real kiss, stolen behind the stage curtains in middle school, et cetera, et cetera, and so on, and so on...

Enjoy.

From here on in, the odds are good that your life is trending downward towards a clusterphuck of Thai tsunami-ish proportions.

I'm just saying.

Chances are, for lack of a better term, good, that THE PLANE WILL HIT THE MOUNTAIN. Mine friend. (I am just the messenger. Save it.)

Anyhow, I've thought of a non-original idea(r) to cope with life's non-trivial tittytwisters y swirlies that I hope (still) you won't be inclinded to steal:

It's the Bop-a-Buddha.

The Bop-a-Buddha is an inflatable punching bag of the sort they fabricated back when I was a tot, say late '70s. Back then, you could head down to Ames and purchase an airbag in the rough shape of a heavy bag that had a weighted bottom and featured some popular pop-cultural (this just in from the department of redundancy dept.) character - say, your Tweety Bird, your Wile E. Coyote, your Bugs fuckinggoddamn Bunny - on the polyeurthane outer skin that you could, well, punch. And the saucy bitch would swing right back up, Cyndi Lauper-style, like a semi-life-sized weeble wobble.

Only the Bop-a-Buddha would sport the image of the enlightened one hisself. All pudgey and heavy-lidded and all-knowing and self-satisfied and smirking and throwing weird gang signs from 500 BC and shit.

I'd wouldn't mind going a couple rounds with a Bop-a-Buddha right now. Your time will come sooner or later.