i had to go to the doctor’s today – i hate it, the depression of the waiting room, the risk of catching a cold, all the posters reminding me of all the horrible diseases and afflictions, i could, and probably will end up getting. most of all, i hate the wait. i know they’re busy and the service is stretched, but to be surrounded by miserable looking fuckers, coughing and sneezing over me is just a shitty way to spend the best part of a morning – thank fuck i’ve got minecraft on my phone, at least.
eventually, i get to see my doctor. she is a hot young asian woman, and, thanks to the recent mild weather, is displaying a cleavage that i could happily spend six months in. this makes discussing personal matters rather awkward, and after several minutes watching her staring, uncomfortably, at her computer display, she turns to me and breaks the news. “i’m very sorry mr mew, but you are going to have to stop masturbating.” i’m flabbergasted.
“what?” i exclaim, “why?” my world collapsing around me, “forever?”
“no, not forever, mr mew,” she sighs, almost scowling, “just while i finish examining you.”
It was a dodgy kinda pub, you know the sort, dark and seedy, old men nursing their half pints so as to make them last the whole evening, or topping up their glasses from cans in a bag under the table, but I was meeting the man there, so there wasn’t much I could do except grin and bear it.
When I got up to visit the bathroom, several heads spun silently in my direction, beady eyes weighing up my pint greedily. I sat back down and flipped over a beer mat. On the back I wrote, in simple block letters “I HAVE SPAT IN THIS BEER”, propped it up against the glass and went and took a leak.
When I got back, my drink remained untouched. I grinned, I was way to smart for these lowlifes, I thought. I took the card and laid it back on the grubby Formica. I took three long gulps of the cool, golden liquid and then noticed that underneath my words on the beer mat, someone had written the words “SO HAVE WE”.
imagine the best sunset you ever saw and then imagine that the sky always looked like that – it would cease to be beautiful, because it would be normal. beautiful things must, by definition, be rare – the universe existed for billions of years before we were born and will continue to exist for trillions of years after we die. like those rare desert plants that only blossom for one day every 150 years, the beauty of life lies in its brevity, and its rarity.
everlasting life would, were it possible, rob our lives of their beauty. so thank god that he doesn’t exist and that tomorrow we might die.