Patrick's Guide to Being Awesome

I’ve been pondering and digging through old trunks in my mind all day in search of an answer. The quest for this answer is critical to adequately furthering my existence on this dear planet the locals call earth. I’m going to take you on a journey into the abyss of my mind. Let it be known that this abyss may or may not be inhabited by those scary fish with the light on their heads. It’s a risk, but a necessary one. So, pack your hemorrhoid cream and possibly a hoodie or some thermal underwear (Is it me or does thermal primarily suck ass?). I understand it may be warm, but does it have to feel like sand paper and accentuate every part of you that you want concealed? I look like a fucking apricot when I put on a thermal undershirt. I digress. It can get chilly in the abyss of my mind. The hemorrhoid cream is merely precautionary. You never know…seriously…you NEVER know. The question desperately needing its answering counterpart is one for the ages. Why am I so ridiculously awesome? I just can’t figure it out. I’m pretty sure I’m related to Zeus or Jesus, and possibly Clapton since he is allegedly God. If he ends up being the Anti-Christ, I’m going to be severely pissed off. Although, they all had really cool beards, and the closest I can get to a beard looks like The Uni-Bomber if he shaved for a Christmas party a few days before hand. I’m probably related to someone more like Batman. I’m very Bruce Wayne-esque, yet I can inexplicably disappear into the night wearing a utility belt. THEN, there’s all this talent I have to deal with! It’s almost too much to bear. God doesn’t like us to waste our talents, but I just don’t have the time to do everything. Listen to my words of wisdom, my children. Sure, I’m a famous Internet celeb, and I dress like I’m in an Indie Rock group called The Ethernets; I don’t want to even get into my boyish good looks or how I invented Sudoko puzzles. It’s harder than it looks…being all awesome and everything. Grab a pen; you’re going to want to write this down. If you follow this list of things, you may be on a path to a better you, or a replica of me, which is just as cool if not better. 1. Read a lot. It makes you smarter. Reading Rainbow had a real impact on the man I am today. 2. Have weapons. Not only am I protected, but I can say things like, “don’t make me grab the fo’ pound and send you straight through the ER, or you better stop the vendetta, I’d tell you in sign language, but my translator’s a Beretta. Sure, I’m from the suburbs and my flow is absurd, divide my 9 by 3 and all you got is a third.” I really should put out a rap album. 3. Listen to music that doesn’t suck. You might say, “hey, isn’t that a matter of taste?” No, it is not. Music either sucks or it doesn’t. Choose wisely. 4. Don’t cheat. Loyalty is a lot hotter than Britany Spears heartburn after a night at Ryan’s Steakhouse. Guys, listen. You aren’t cool if you “bang” chicks on the side. That makes you a ball of filth. Ladies? You’re not off the hook either. Stop slutting around for goodness sake. If you don’t like that douche you’re with, then break up and then go star in your own sex tape that will inevitably end up on craigslist for a few bucks. 5. Respect large cats. They can and will maul you if the opportunity arises. My fear of jungle cats exudes a vulnerability that drives women wild. Try it out. If I’m wrong, then your fate lies within the belly of a mean cougar. 6. Buy a blazer or two. I’m no writer for GQ, but the sport coat is always in style and can even make a plaid polo button up from granny look decent. In addition, with a blazer you don’t have to iron. Chew on that taffy of info a bit. 7. Be confident at all times. Women hate pussies. Redbook may want you to think sensitivity is the right approach, but punching out a Rabbi while simultaneously copying everything Patrick Swayze did in Dirty Dancing is much more appealing. If a senile man with a mullet can land a 14 year old, then you may have a chance. I know what you’re thinking, and NO! The legal age is 18, and in my mind that’s just as creepy. Now ladies, stop all the bullshit. Stop holding out for some rich dickwad with the personality of the 1411 robot lady. Money is awesome, there’s no denying that, but I’d rather be in love living in a shanty than masturbating for the rest of my life in front of a plasma, because my wife spends the whole day shopping while trying to make her skin a mandarin color that eventually ends up looking like OJ’s bloody glove. Love beats materialism every time. 8. Pick up cooking. It’s not only cathartic, but very sexy and self-fulfilling. I may write a cook book for guys that think Basil is a country in South America, but probably not. Cooking is an art. This art can go from Van Gogh to paint-by-number with one wrong move. 9. Keep a journal. You don’t have to keep up with it, but have one. I flip through mine, and it brings back good and bad memories. It’s still history. For instance, on July 26, 2004, I wrote, “I think a pet spider monkey is a bad idea, but a few bats could possibly rock. Then again, I don’t want them flapping around through the night looking for fruit or blood. I think a sloth is my best bet. Yeah, a sloth. My left teste feels like Paul Bunyan did the electric slide on it. I’m going to sleep. Journals blow.” See, you can just ramble and look all mysterious at the same time. 10. Disregard every single thing I wrote. Being awesome is a state of mind and self assuredness. Nobody can teach you how to be awesome. I mean, I don’t even know how I got this sweet. I want to say it’s from the $50 I slipped the baby Jesus at a nativity scene, but it turns out that it was the baby of a manager at The Buckle. I may never know what makes me so much better than a large percent of the population, but I’ll never quit searching. The answer lies somewhere. I’m thinking it’s in the vicinity of the Arc of The Covenant and the Holy Grail, so I’ll probably find out on the Discovery Channel. This whole “advice” blog was written on the fly, so cut me some slack. Remember, the first cut is the deepest. Cat Stevens says so. Keep an eye out for my debut book. It’s almost complete, and it may be the best thing to ever be written, or an abomination to American literature. Only time will tell…unless time leaks it on the Internet before the release date. Time can’t be trusted.