Subject’s alarm goes off. It’s to the sound of a Bright Eyes B-side, so naturally, subject does not wake up, as the song was written to make people fall asleep. Or die.
Subject’s high school brother’s alarm sounds from next door. The muffled voice of Trey Songz or maybe Rick Ross dribbles through the thin wall, informing subject on the wonders of blunts, cars and the female ass.
Subject goes back to sleep slightly more depressed than he was before (he has never experienced the aforementioned wonders), making a mental note that there is no logical reason to get up today, seeing as he is gainfully unemployed and sleeping on a pile of old chocolate milk cartons.
Subject’s mother knocks on the door and proceeds to enter without waiting for an answer. Subject says the f*ck word; his mother walks purposefully to his bedside and smacks him upside the head. Subject sits up and pours the last of his tequila into a used Dixie cup while his mother berates him for being an unemployed, ungrateful mooch who smells like a dead animal.
Subject finds his phone under an old Long John Silver’s to-go sack and updates his Twitter account, which has 32 followers.
“I could really go for a Capri Sun.”
A high school student favorites the tweet.
Subject @s the high school student saying, Hey!
Subject updates his Twitter feed, telling all 32 followers that he is awake and also does anyone want to go to McDonald’s? He spells ‘awake’ incorrectly.
Subject has yet to receive any responses to his 11:07 tweet. He tweets again.
“fine screw you guys im busy anyway.”
Subject finally gets out of bed and goes to the kitchen, where the family computer resides. He grabs a beer out of the fridge and takes a seat in front of the “Mean Machine.” (Subject actually calls it that.) After trolling some dweebs on Facebook, Reddit and a select number of gaming sites, subject makes his way to www.thoughtcatalog.com.
Subject has just finished skimming the first page of articles. He goes back to the one by Ryan O’Connell and scrolls down to the comments section.
“HEY RYAN THIS IS RETARDED,” he starts. Subject laughs to himself — capitals were a good choice. “pls kill urself. u are litleraly the worlds worst writer.” Subject takes a swig of beer before continuing. How to end things? “duche bag.”
Subject wakes up from a quick, albeit unintentional, cat nap at his “office desk” and decides he needs some caffeine. He’s about to fire up the family coffee maker when a well-placed sticky note on the POWER knob catches his eye:
“DON’T USE, water is leaking from the bottom. There are hot pockets in the freezer, but they’re for your brother. If you MUST eat them, eat only one, and make sure it’s the green pepper and onion kind. Or, you can have two after you pay rent. Mom.”
Subject scoffs at the note and proceeds to put one part water and three parts gin into the back of the coffee maker. He pulls out his favorite coffee beans — White Castle brand, finely ground — and pours them haphazardly into a filter that’s actually just a doily.
Somehow, a fire starts.
Subject puts the fire out with his own piss.
Subject wakes again, his face stuck to last month’s Us Weekly, but doesn’t remember falling asleep. Subject stares out window as his mind wanders to Jen. Why did she leave? Why? WHY? Subject knows she’s dating that asshole Blake, who’s going to college. Mr. Fancy. Well, if that’s what she wants, then that’s fucking fine. Subject figures Jen wasn’t all that great anyway. Subject remembers Jen loved Avatar, like some sort of puppet. Like a walking cliche. And, worst of all, she didn’t even like King of Queens. Subject throws tequila glass against the wall.
Subject pours another glass of tequila.
Subject decides to write poem. Pulls Word document up. Decides to check Thought Catalog again. Pulls up article, “10 Ways to Know It’s Real.”
Leaves comment: “im sorry. i used to think like u, but then i found out the truth. its never real. this is fucking dumb. lol”
Subject wakes up (again). Sends out tweet. “super board. whose down to meet up.” He DMs the high school student who favorited his earlier tweet. “drunk. wanna meet up lol”
High school student unfollows subject and promptly deletes Twitter account.
Subject goes back to Thought Catalog and reads “The 10 Worst Lines People Tell You To Help You Get Over a Breakup.”
Subject leaves a comment. “u forgot ‘just move on.’ EVERYONE tells me that and they all have one thing in common. theyve never been dumped so fuck them.” Subject looks into tequila cup, which is now empty and reeks of booze, just like subject’s heart.
Subject picks up rotary phone and dials Jen. Phone rings five times and goes to voicemail. Subject hangs up.
Subject calls Jen.
Subject calls Jen.
Subject calls Jen. Jen answers. “Stop calling, asshole.” Jen hangs up.
Subject calls Jen.
Subject gets an idea. Maybe HE should write an article for Thought Catalog! But what to call it…? Subject pours another glass of tequila and sits down at the Mean Machine to think. Subject feels very authorly. He goes to bookshelf to pull out some inspiration, grabs three Nicholas Sparks books, and sets them on top of what he calls his “Talent Stack,” a pile of John Grisham novels and old copies of PEOPLE Magazine. Subject thumbs through Talent Stack, searching for a muse.
Subject types out “10 Reasons Jen is a Bitch.” Deletes it. “I can do better,” he thinks.
“Then again…” he says aloud, to nobody in particular. He re-types “10 Reasons Jen is a Bitch.”
Subject reviews his work.
10 Reasons Jen is a BITCH
1. She went to college. Like a bitch.
2. She wears Toms. Like a bitch.
3. She doesn’t want to have sex with me. Ever. Like a bitch.
4. She loves her parents. Like a bitch.
Subject checks Tumblr and reblogs 30 Revenge GIFs. Subject then searches “Katy Perry + ass” and reblogs 30 GIFs of Katy Perry’s ass.
Subject pulls up his own in-progress Thought Catalog submission and strokes his chin “thoughtfully,” but is mostly picking at a zit which is buried beneath a pre-pubescent scruff. “Hmmmm,” he says. He leans back in his chair and looks to the ceiling. Subject’s phone rings. “Hello?” he says. “Hi, Dwayne.” It’s subject’s mother. “Just thought I’d let you know that they’re hiring down here at the Target.” Subject doesn’t dignify his mother’s words with a response. Instead, he throws the phone at the wall and somehow manages to miss, watching in horror as it lands on his newly unpackaged Furby.
Subject goes to www.urbandictionary.com
Subject types in “bitch” in search of synonyms.
Subject refers back to the Talent Stack.
Subject’s mom unlocks the front door. “Sweetie, why are you naked?” Subject is weeping. Multiple sources in the Talent Stack have confirmed Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez’s break-up. “Not Jelena?!?” he cries. He gets back on Thought Catalog to distract himself.
Subject clicks on an article titled “15 Ways 20-Somethings Have Ruined Their Twenties.” Though the title clearly suggests it, subject is furious when he finds that the article is ANOTHER typical TC list. He skims the first half and then scrolls down to the comments section.
Subject is on his 17th draft of a comment. Some of the rejects include:
ANOTHER list? hey hudspeth your dumb.
THIS AINT THE 90S HUDSPETH
guess who else ruined there twenties? YOUR MOM
u shud definately consider jumping of a cliff
In the end, subject goes with:
#16. jen ruined my 20s cause shes a BITCH lawlypopz
Subject is staring at his most recent Thought Catalog comment. Someone has replied.
“Did that comment make you feel good about yourself? Did it make you feel like you know what you’re talking about or that you’re funny in some way? Well guess what: It doesn’t even make sense in the context of this article. Not only is it rude and moronic, but it shows that you have absolutely no idea what the author was trying to achieve with this piece. You’re probably some 47-year-old guy who lives at home, tweets at high schoolers, and sleeps on a bed of used chocolate milk cartons. Honestly, I feel sorry for you. Find something better to do with your time.”
Subject heats up three hot pockets, one Pepperoni, two Four Cheese Garlic Pasta Bake. He quotes a line from South Park in what he believes to be the voice of Cartman, though in reality it sounds more like a strangled toddler: “They’re MAH hot pockets, I’ll do what I WANT!”
Subject responds to the response.
“looks like SOMEONES pms-ing…let me grab you sum tampons”
Subject shuts down the Mean Machine, pleased with the day’s work. He grabs a fresh bottle of tequila, goes up to his bedroom, belly flops onto his “bed,” and opens Twitter on his phone.
“gudnight, yall. #getdrunkandpassout”