Positivity?

Dear All,

A good friend of mine, who I happen to live with, said to me the other day: “Henry, you cunt, when are you going to write something positive?” To be honest, I think he made a very good point. Of course, me being the insecure, superficial person that I am, thought, “Shit, maybe I am just a scathing miserable wanker who takes some kind of macabre pleasure in burying everyone else and then bragging about it on Facebook.” Wait, shit. I can’t even talk about Facebook anymore because I decided to pull that apart in an intimidating, dentist chair-like manner.

I joke, but I am starting to get slightly worried. I wouldn’t really say that I’m a negative person, at all, in fact, most of the time, I’m fairly positive. However, I think I have a problem, and it’s not just a stupid haircut or the inability to get a girlfriend. I can only really get truly passionate about something if I have a strong, Roy Keane a la Alf Inge Haaland dislike for it. Rather, I only feel it necessary to broadcast my emotions about certain aspects of my lifestyle, our society and my immediate surroundings that make me feel anger, discontent and/or unhappiness, as opposed to the idea of transforming my undying love for my personal interests into words. After all, as much as I would take great pleasure in writing a piece about how much I love wanking, its etymology and thus its significance within contemporary youth culture, or the life-changing qualities, affordability and orgasmic tang of Nandos, I feel it would be a bit of waste of time, you know.

Basically, my main point here is, nothing has really pissed me off that much this week, so I thought I’d explain how much I find it impossible to invest time in writing about things that don’t piss me off. Hang on, maybe I'm actually pissed off about the fact that I'm unable to harness a passion for things that don't piss me off, and nothing has pissed me off this week, so I'm pissed off. Shit, who knows. That aside, hopefully someone will headbutt me on the bus on the way home now, and then steal my wallet, and perhaps try to withdraw money from my embarrassingly depleted debit cards, thus incurring an inexplicable Hiroshima-like plethora of bank charges. Then I’ll have something to talk about.

Yours truly,

A pedantic, hypocritical wanker.