Hezo Kittie

It's My Deuce in a Box

I saw this girl driving a Mercedes S-Class in Westwood today. Blonde hair, odd looking tan, dry cleaning in the back, boy riding shotgun, the works. Could've been in high school.

The look on my face could've broken several mirrors. I wondered if she'd ever worked a day in her life, if she was grateful for anything she's ever received, if she threw tantrums when Daddy didn't give her what she wanted.

Privileged low life incubated in private high schools, whose biggest problem is what that bitch Sally said behind her back yesterday, I thought. Fuck all bitches.

/* Okay, it wasn't exactly that biting but the rhetoric is for the sake of the overall 'moral' so bear with me hehe [= */

It kinda made me think of the fairness of life and 'why am I the way I am' physically and personality wise.

I thought about another hypothetical situation: What if I wished to be tall dark and handsome, with a bottomless trust fund and the world at my mercy? And my wish was actually granted? Would I travel the world stopping genocide and picking up cigarette butts?

Haha yeah fucking right. If I had my way with the world I would be fucking hella bitches with no jimmy hats on and nutting in them and getting them fucking pregnant and having an illegitimate army of baby Kevins (yes, they would all be named Kevin, no numbering system or different last names either). Spending hella money on exclusive hats without even waiting in line and buying HELLA drugs and shit. Doing HELLA expensive shit like getting hand massages just cause I can and I have nothing better to do. Paying bums to beat each other up. Making it rain.

But I digress. I'm privileged as hell, and I also feel guilty as hell for it. But my life is also far, far from 'perfect'. "If only..." If only what? If only I was tall dark and handsome instead of short ashy and nondescript? If only I was a genius instead of a lazy fuck up? If only I had everything I wanted?

If I was tall dark and handsome and had my pick of the litter I would be the shallowest person on Earth. I wouldn't consider personality at all because, hey, I wouldn't have to. My baser instincts would take over.

If I was a perfect, accomplished genius with tons of published papers and things to my name, I would also be quite uncompassionate because I would see everyone else and think, "What the fuck? Why can't you be like me and be hella accomplished you bums? You are all ruining my life. I can do it, why can't you?" My actual struggle also feeds my ability to empathize, which I personally hold in higher regard.

The list goes on. The moral of the story is that the imperfections in my life that seemingly are the bane of my existence are also essential to my existence as me, uniquely me and no one else. There's no telling what I'd be like if I didn't have them or never had them or was able to magick them into something else, and if you gave me a million good things to come of it, I could come up with a million bad ones. It is what it is. The girl in the Benz and I are no different, we just rolled different characters at birth. Real talk niggas.