Roommate Decadence World
Hair transplants. Dead semen. Gameboy boy in a war.
Roommate: “I want to start saving money so I can get a hair transplant.”
In our shower I have a bar of soap. He has 5 bottles of chemicals. He wonders why he’s balding. He doubles down and applies more chemicals.
Me: “I hear ya”
“What do you mean you have a full head of hair!”
“I hear ya, you want to look good for 30. Men peak at 30. The dating market sucks right now but that’s ok because I’m only gaining status.
Women peak early 20’s. If you’re a 28 y/o women without a partner your clock is tickin. If you’re a 30’s woman with no kids and want kids your close to screwed.”
“Well… kids the natural way….”
“Oh ya lab babies are a thing now”
“My sister and her husband are 30 and they are trying to have a kid. She’s fertile but he’s not. They grew her eggs in a petri dish and added some of his semen but it failed.
He has live semen… but they’re not strong enough to like… survive the chaos.”
oh my gosh
“Is he fit?”
“Um I don’t know if he has a medical condition. He’s the type who drinks Monsters like every day.“
“Oh yeah those chemicals will fuck you up.”
“It sucks there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“I’d completely change my life.”
This is the reckoning.
Continue flooding the market with toxic chemicals. The genetics of the infertile will perish, selecting, for purity. This is a hardcore culling.
But wHaT aBouT Lab BabiEz👶🏼
We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.
Labs can’t really make the infertile, fertile.
And when the lab fails; the infertile don’t get their money back.
Thank God.
“Well son, you were conceived in a petri dish.”
Traditional, natural ways of living are attractive because they actually work.
The unnatural way is slow motion suicide. Generational suicide. Are you going to end your bloodline by drinking Monsters?
Probably.
The dating market.
People decline faster than their standards for a partner.
My eyeballs have seen thousands of beautiful digital women, for every one stable real-life attractive female, available for partnership. 1000 to 1, at least. Electricity is a ghost. You're not in a different world, you're talking to a wall.
As fewer shoppers go to market, less vendors can afford to go, and the cycle continues until the market makers call it quits.
The market makers are long gone and we’re looking for new ones.
“In the U.S., while the divorce rate hovers around 40 or 50 percent, the divorce rate for arranged marriages is 4 percent.” Brides.com
In the kitchen again
Roommate says “It’s hard to find a doctor” . . . “When a person is struggling with… anxiety and depression… it’s like… hard not to…. I’ve been prescribed stuff before… and it’s hard not to want to take a pill to fix it and make it stop…”
“The idea that you take a pill every day indefinitely is preposterous. You’d have to be an idiot to think you don’t pay for that down the line.”
Silence
I ask him “Have you tried a benzo”
“I don’t know what that is”
“Have you tried psilocybin mushrooms?”
“No I haven’t. I don’t like not feeling like myself. And I don’t like mushrooms.”
But you want an SSRI from Dr. Daddy.
He explains “Like marijuana has a weird effect on me.”
Me too. “Like half of people say it gives them anxiety.”
“Really? I didn’t know that. Well… it makes my pain receptors go up like 1,000x so I think it’s different for me.”
Everyone thinks they are so fucking special.
“Awesome.”
Later…
I can hear him hootin and hollerin on his game boy. He’s talking to a wall.
You play videogames on your phone at a job you hate. Then when you’re not at “work” you play videogames on your gameboy in your bedroom by yourself. It’s not a mystery why you have no self esteem.
He’s on the phone with someone.
I overhear “I want to feel wanted.” I keep listening.
His plan, I shit you not, is to get the same job at a bigger corporation, move to Orlando and live with his parents so he can save money for a hair transplant.
Comedians are in a tough spot. Jokes are writing themselves.
The plebeian culture is spiritually bankrupt. Addiction is ubiquitous and intimacy is endangered. Courage is unknown. The plebeians are weak as fuck.
The ratio of accessible bad to good food and water is 1000 to 1.
No king. No captain. This ship is going down. What percent of the crew survives the stormy sea, finds an island and rebuilds.
In a steamy bathroom feverishly typing shower thoughts. The bathroom is adjacent to the roommate's room and I get to overhear this plebe.
As usual he’s playing his gameboy and yelping. That’s the best word for it: he is yelping into a headset microphone. This is a child. Worse - a small dog. I should take his toy away.
The minute that mic turns off his brain will be on fire.
He says into the mic:
“You want me to leave bro? I could go downtown. I have some bartenders I could talk to.”
That is the best fucking sentence to describe the situation and came from his mouth, straight into this book.
Every 10 minutes on his game boy is another shovel of dirt he throws out of the deep hole he lives in.
There’s two ways out. He hits rock bottom and climbs out, or he's buried alive in what looks like a multi decade suicide, assisted by the collapsing psychosocial landscape.
Climbing out is slowly supplanting internet things with life things. Then you live outside and without your toys.
Live outside. Live without your toys. Trash your gameboy. Live brave enough to think and say what you actually feel. Experience a temperature change.
I’m not the best feeler of feelings but I know I’m working on it.
The miracle I experience is the conversion of food into kinetic energy. And the conversion of kinetic energy into words on a page. The conversion of food into words.
The food, water, chemicals and data you intake are your thoughts.
I’m interested in the post-internet world. Post-internet thoughts.
I know every book you didn’t read.
Retardation is a vicious cycle.
I live in a world where everyone appears retarded,
and not trying to unretard, just getting more retarded.
You’d have to be an idiot to think the next 50 years will be smooth sailing.
Do you want to be a warrior in a garden or a gardener in a war?
I’d rather be a warrior playing a game than a video gamer in a war.
Back in the kitchen.
“If you ever want to go on a bike ride or go outside just let me know.”
Roommate: “Uhh, i don't know how to say this but… i’m a bit of a pussy… err a bitch… when it comes to cold.”
It’s 42 and sunny. It’s a beautiful day.
“Do you have a coat?”
“I just don’t like the cold I like 80 degrees.”
“Then this is not the right state for you.”
“I’m pretty tired today. I think I'll just do nothing. Sorry you keep asking and I keep saying no.”
“I don’t think I've ever asked you that.”
“One time a while back you asked me if I want to go on a bike ride and I said no.”
“Oh yeah, I get worried when people play videogames all day. I’ve seen people go down that path, I’ve been down that path, it doesn’t end well.”
“Are you saying I should bring my video games outside?”
This was his actual response.
“That's not the worst idea I've heard.”
“When I get my own place I'll have a big sun room and I'll play videogames in there.”
Great.
This is too real