I Just Want the Universe to Stop Trying to Control Me

Nobody likes a negative Nellie, and I am blessed in many ways, but in the name of all that is holy, I just want the universe to stop trying to control me.

My first gripe is about time. Why must I travel through time in a linear fashion. Why can’t I just jump to the future right now if I want? Or to the past? This is America. If freedom means anything, it means the right to travel freely. The U.S. Supreme Court even said so. Zobel v. Williams, 457 U.S. 55 (1982).

I am not wild about the laws of physics either. If I want to “jump” in the shower, I should be able to do that without having to worry about how my mass will interact with the slick, wet surface of the shower floor, resulting in me falling and fracturing my butt bone.

I also don’t like gravity. If I want to float, why can’t I float? But since we are stuck with gravity, I would like to suggest that Libertarians consider moving to the moon. Because taxation is only 1/6 of a theft on the moon.

And speaking of the laws of physics, why does my microwave need six minutes to heat a frozen enchilada? Why can’t it just be instantly hot upon my command?  But, no, all the particles have to accelerate for a while. You know, my time is valuable. Other than have sex a few times, there’s not much I can do in six minutes. At my hourly rate, I figure the universe owes me $33.50.

Also, I enjoy geographic diversity as much as the next temporary assembly of particles in human form, but sometimes I just want the earth to be flat. Just for a short time. It makes it easier to walk. Is that too much to ask?

I also don’t like the fact that because of something that happened sixteen billion years ago, my prostate is enlarged and sometimes I have to close my eyes and visualize a gentle stream just to urinate. Not only that, but because the universe continues to expand – another thing I have no control over – I will have do that again in the future. I might as well just buy a place next to a damn stream.

On that topic, I also don’t like laws that make it a crime to pee in public. As a Republican, I say, “Let the free market decide!” If you think about it, humanity treats the earth like a urinal anyhow.

And while I am at it, I really don’t like boogers. Not one bit. I do not like them in my nose. I do not like them in my prose. I do not like them here or there. I do not like them anywhere. Not only do they remind me of green eggs and ham, which I detest, but they impair my breathing. And that’s another thing I don’t like – the fact that I must breathe. But since I must, I don’t want boogers obstructing my breathing. Which means that, because of something that happened sixteen billion years ago, I can’t bite my nails.

Also, when you resent something – meaning you take offense – why is that word identical to the word we use for sending something again? And why did we have to send it again in the first place? Why didn’t the first delivery work? I mean, c’mon man.

Another thing that I don’t like is change. I mean, because of something that took place sixteen billion years ago, the term Big Bang has a totally different meaning today than it did back then.

I just don’t like anyone – including the universe – telling me what to do. Probably because of childhood issues I won’t bore you with. Like, one time when I was about sixteen, somebody grabbed me and threw me out of my chair. They said before I could eat, I had to dance like Fred Astaire. I did not like that. Not one bit. I don’t even like the fact that I must eat to survive, but since I must, I don’t need some fool telling me I must dance just to eat. I’m not talking filet mignon; I would have been happy with some Fritos and maybe some of those orange circus peanuts and an ice cold can of TaB. Now, because I am blessed, and I know it, I resisted the temptation to insert one of my knuckles into that man’s xiphoid process, and instead decided to let the universe control me. So, I danced. You should have seen me moving, right across the floor.

But if I had inserted one of my knuckles into his xiphoid process, why does the amount of force depend on my mass and acceleration? I mean, who came up with that?

Another thing I don’t like is some fancy libtard professor at Harvard suddenly telling me that Pluto is not a planet. I just want a tiny bit of consistency. Something I can rely on. If we allow the liberals to start telling us what is a planet, the next thing you know some dude with a pony tail and a doctorate will be making millions off of his book, Jupiter is a Hoax.

Well, like Mister Ed, I try never to speak unless I’ve got something to say. And I’ve said it. Thanks for listening. 10-4 to the universe. I’m out.

Wait, I’m not out. Who decided that 10-4 should mean “message received?” That’s arrogant, and it discriminates against odd numbers. Why not 4-7? That way even numbers, odd numbers, and even prime numbers are represented. Do I have to do everything? For the love of God. I just want the universe to stop trying to control me.

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