The least funny joke in the history of time

The least funny joke in the history of time isn’t actually a joke at all.

For something to be funny, there should be some kind of irony, or pun, or some form of actual meaning to whatever the joke is. It doesn’t need to make you think that hard, although it could. You could just say something unexpected or out of the ordinary. It can even be about poop and farts (because poop and farts are never not funny).

[As I typed, “poop and farts,” I giggled. Did I mention I have a college degree?]

But for some reason, 90% of the people I encounter at work seem to have the same joke loaded in the chamber.
“This is the one,” I imagine them saying to themselves proudly. “I’m going to f***ing kill with this joke. When I unleash this category 5 hurricane of funny on this poor, unsuspecting bellman/driver, he is going to laugh so hard he will s**t into the future.”

(They seem to think it’s that good. Why did your face do that weird thing when you read that?)

Unfortunately for them, I’ve heard the joke about ten trillion times. Since the dawn of man, this joke has actually never been funny once. It clearly is the first thing to pop into whomever-delivers-this-atrocity-in-the-name-of-humor’s unrelentingly cretinous excuse for a brain. And rather than trying to find something actually clever to say, or trying to have some kind of real human moment, or even doing something as base as talking about the weather, every single one of you who has ever uttered this irresponsibly moronic verbal-diarrhea-water-balloon has contributed to the continuing problem of society’s decline into mental entropy. You actually drop the IQ of every single person within earshot of this heinious utterance by a good 10 points (at least).

So, if you ever see me, or anyone who will be wearing the same name tag as me within the same city limits that I live, don’t you ever say anything close to the following sentence:

“Oh, Austin from Austin; that’s convinient.”

I will kick you in your damned throat.
That doesn’t mean anything.
I swear, anyone who says this thinks, “There’s a correlation there, so this has to be hilarious.”
And you qualifying it by saying, “I bet you get that all the time,” only makes you worse. And by worse, I mean worse than Hitler.

This is the pain I live with. This is the burden I bear.

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On Heaven’s golden shore, we’ll lay our heads.

Should I not wake up tomorrow (DON’T WORRY, YOU HAVE NO REASON TO THINK I WON’T, SHEESH), and my soul awakens in heaven, I just hope every day will feel as good and perfect as I feel right now, in this moment: The hum of the cheap Wal-Mart fan next to my head, my tired body recuperating in bed, the record player permeating the room with analog waves, me glowing with the love of my dear and loyal friends.

I do know that I will probably wake up tomorrow. It will happen just a little later than convenient. I will hate my lunch, because I’m trying not to be chubby and eat right. I will have to go in late afternoon to a monotonous job that in no way utilizes my expensive college degree. My ears will probably still be ringing from the show my band just played tonight. More friends will be far away again, or preparing to go that way. I will, like I have so often lately, heave a sigh or two of discouragement for people I no longer consider friends. I’ll wonder if they feel any kind of remorse, or if I could have prevented whatever happened. I might feel some incredible sinking feeling again. I might not, too. But I might.

These things happen every day.
But tonight, I feel perfect.
I love my band. They work so hard to pull off what they do.
I love my friends. They’re very good at loving me back.
I love that I am awake, breathing and am (mostly) providing for myself.

I love that I feel contentment in this perfect, holy moment.

It’s cool if you keep quiet, but I like singin’.

I posted a long time ago about creating. It’s something everyone should do. Find your big gigantic drum kit.

I’m doing that. Right now. As we speak.
I graduated from college almost 8 weeks ago. The bottom has fallen out and I’m absolutely terrified. My job right now is driving a van. I get paid hourly and I make tips. I have to begin paying student loans in a few months. And not just regular loans; private loans, because I don’t have any foresight. Whoops.
But if there’s one thing I respect more than anything, it’s someone who actually tries to become who they want to become. They set out to be one thing in particular rather than let the winds carry them to wherever they end up. Personally, I know that the only thing that could ever make me happy and truly satisfied at the end of a day of work is to be a professional musician; salary be damned. I don’t want to be famous. I don’t mind if I never own a leer jet. And if I can only afford a few grams of coke per show, I can get by on that.
(Kidding, mom)
But I’d just love more than anything to be able to pay the rent that way. This is why I have the crappy job I have. This is why I’m not starting a career. I’m living to fulfill an ideal. This is something I was born for. This is why I’m in a rock band. And not just a crappy garage rock meeting of the minds: I’m creating music with a very talented group of dudes I respect. I look forward to every band practice, show, meeting etc. I’ll admit, it’s really hard track of the goal. I keep getting saddened by my currently suffering social life. I keep feeling embarrassed when I tell people what I’m doing with my degree. But nights like February 3 make every single doubt in my mind disappear. I know what brings me joy and gives me purpose that I could never find as a 9-to-5-er in any field.
So when my friends’ parents feel the need  to pity me, or the bigwigs I cart around town to give me career advice, I’m wearing my smirk in the front seat like a badge of honor. If it all caves in, whatever. I’m giving it a shot, and that’s purpose enough for me right now.

At the end, I swear I’m trying.

In 15 hours, I’m crossing the stage in the cap and gown. I’m done being a college kid. I feel like I should have been imbued with some kind of eternal wisdom or something. All I really know is that I’m in debt, but here’s my two cents to every person who was part of the best 4.5 years of my life:

• To everyone who stayed up with me until 4 am deriving the ins and outs of the universe over cigars or under a meteor shower, thank you for each memorable night.
• To every one of you who started listening to Neutral Milk Hotel or Bright Eyes within the last 5 years, your efforts are too little too late, and you’ll never be good enough.
• To any musician who’s challenged me to be better, I am because of it.
• To every friend who’s kept my chin up, I hope I was there for you in the same way, as I intend to be in the future. 
• To each person who ever enjoyed dubstep, screw off. 
• To every girl who was remotely involved with me, thanks I guess? All of you were just really confusing. 
• To every one of you who enjoyed the song “Pumped Up Kicks” and didn’t view it as a sad record label attempt at capitalizing on indie rock, I give you three hypothetical middle fingers. You’re part of the problem.
• Also, less reverb. 
• To each one of you who still believes in the power of hardcore, keep your fist held high my brothers. The reckoning is coming.
• To every person I went to a show with, thank you for screaming along.
• To any friend who still puts up with me and actually makes the effort, I love you more than you could ever know, and I’d never have made it to now without you.

So who wants to give me a lot of money?

This isn’t an episode of Survivor.

Everyone is pissed off all the time, and you’re killing me.

Pictured: Everyone.

I’m the type of person that absolutely can’t handle any two people ever being frustrated with one another. Now I’m drowning in it. The past few days, everyone on both sides of every single stupid dispute congealing around me has been driving me insane. Every childish passive-aggressive remark, every egomaniacal action, every instance of devolution: Eye for an eye was thrown out a couple thousand years ago, kids. And I’m not going to be a dad and sit people down and tell them to stop being an angry baby, but I will say that I fully believe every single person I’ve ever befriended is 100% capable of human civility, which is typically considered the bare minimum for acting like an adult. And MANY people I love very much are embarrassing me. Nevermind mere civility, the things people are getting pissy over are trivial at most.

No doubt, I’ll garner the eyerolls of several people, and the “YEAH, YOU TELL ‘EM”s of the rest. I just wish everyone had a little bit more perspective. You’re breathing today. You didn’t watch your parents get murdered and were then forced to join the army that killed your parents. Nobody I know personally was sold into prostitution lately. Your life is fine. The s****y chip appearing on everyone’s shoulder has absolutely no weight at all, and I can’t take it. I don’t mean that in a “I’m so much more mature than all of you” kind of way, but rather with a “All of you are standing on my throat” kind of way. Nobody can say anything without somebody’s infant-level of self-regard deriving offense where none existed. Every minute thought or action suddenly becomes a personal attack. I swear I don’t mean to point fingers, but it takes everything in me to try to let everyone work it out themselves, and I’m absolutely emotionally exhausted. So please, don’t take this as me being a judgmental jerk, but a legitimately concerned friend.

If everyone were operating under the guise of humility that we’ve been shown, no doubt our problems would diminish instantly. We don’t have to assume everything is an attack. We can give people the benefit of the doubt. We don’t have to be a walking embodiment of outrage. I love each and every one of you, and believe that you have the capacity to chill out.

If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also.

Nobody actually has slapped anyone yet, be that figuratively or literally. And if you feel like you have been, I can guarantee you you’re being childish. Put your big girl panties on and do something significant.

Love people.

This isn’t directed at any individual person. If you don’t feel like it applies to you, move on. Only the guilty catch an offense.

Self-destruction’s oh so romantic.

I’m laying in my darkened room right now. I grabbed my computer to check my email, facebook, etc, since I couldn’t sleep, and the glitter from my drums caught my eyes. I caught myself using my computer as a light to just stare at my drums. For like, 5 minutes. I’m like an idiot distracted by lights.No matter how many times I’ve seen them and beaten the crap out of them, I still can’t get over just how beautiful I find my set of drums. It never gets old.

I will beat you again. Soon.

I hope I feel the same way about my wife should I ever get married.

(Except I’ll probably beat her significantly less)

-Fear and Loathing on Long Island

I guess I don’t belong here.

I found out that my mom thought I was a socialist the other day. That was pretty funny.

Although, the fact that I own my own copy of The Communist Manifesto probably doesn’t help my case.