Eat. Shit. Fuck.
Human survival is simple. We're screwing it up. Let's enjoy a combo holiday!
Writing on Substack is a thing in and of itself. It’s not a vanity project or star vehicle for most, and the meat and potatoes of the daily grind are well seasoned with the variety of spicy takes, hot dashes, and gut-busting memes.
The sheer breadth of valuable opinion, top-shelf talent, ideological diversity, creative passion, and fabbit-hole topics of Substack is worthy of respect. Not as in new-media. But as in multi-media for the masses. I’m proud to be a writer on Substack. I’m proud that they do not bow down to censorship. It’s freedom.
I have all of you to thank for making this happen. You not only pay money for my words, but you pay a far more valuable commodity: Your Time. For that I am always mindful. That’s why I keep doing it, and why you see me once a week, on Sundays. I love spending a lazy afternoon just picking and clicking cool reads.
My recent posts have garnered comments, likes, and shares. Which is quite gratifying. Especially comments like the one Scott left, replying to my latest post in my Healthy Eating series. . .
I wear the crown of the most annoying people on the planet with great pride. I fetishize food quite a bit. Sometimes even dream about it. Is that weird? I start thinking about my next meal halfway through my current one. I search online menus for fun. I read menus about page first. Ok, fucking annoying, right?
The reason I am healthy is because I think about food. Obsessively, I’m sure. The result of 30+ years in the hospitality rodeo. But it hasn’t jaded me, (Scott, ahem) and for that I feel some pride. I’m still in the arena and having banner results.
Consider jumping on board. There is a place here for you. Your opinions, your suggestions, your stories. Especially your hot takes about how fucking annoying I am. Those are the best.
Now let’s talk about the harsh realities. Eating. Shitting. Fucking. None of which we do well. We come from monkeys, people. Can’t we go a little bit primal?
More Than Half of the World Will Be Obese By 2035, Report Says
Global Ostomy Drainage Bags Market $4.4 Billion by 2031
A ‘failure to launch’: Why young people are having less sex
We are stubbornly obese, irritably constipated, and dangerously sexless. Don’t worry, be happy. Take this pill or a shot to make it all feel better. As a species, it’s hard to survive with a birth rate lower than 2.1 kids per woman. We need bros birthing babies hell for leather if this catastrophe is to be averted. As if.
What a doom-loop this is: eat crappy - can’t crap - don’t hook-up - intensify and repeat - die alone.
Here’s how it goes down - eat a bunch of unhealthy food, completely disregard your digestive process, become morbidly fat, keep over-eating, lose interest in sex and be undesirable as a partner, develop anxieties, withdraw into isolation and loneliness, suffer catastrophic disability and die.
Over 4 billion human beings will be obese in 2035. Fifteen years ago 1.63 billion suffered obesity, so the jump will be mind-blowing. Or belly-busting.
Over 10 million humans have to poop in a bag. I’m not making fun, I’m just saying it out loud. I have family members that do, for reasons I do not know. But according to the doctors, the reasons
. . . include increasing incidence of chronic conditions such as colorectal cancer, bladder cancer, Crohn’s disease, ulcerative colitis and inflammatory bowel diseases . . .
And then, no sex.
But I think sex is kind of gross. It seems very messy, and it’s vulnerable in a way that I think would be very uncomfortable.
Here’s that clip from Sarah Connor - statement on society. I stand accused and reformed. What compels you to action? What clip can you point to that illustrates your position? Where are you? What street corner are you standing on? Share.
I leave you no better than I found you. Just a bit more in tune than before. Listen to that tiny small little voice inside that talks to you. It’s saying something. Lay down upside on your bed. Walk backwards for 10 steps. Turn left, not right, out of the parking lot. Stop what you’re doing, and do something else. Be uncomfortable.
Love who you are,
Ric
Not all at once, though.