Let me start off this post by saying I am terribly, terribly sorry for the Disney-themed post titles. It’s somewhat less creative on my part to do them, (or at least that’s what I hear). I will, however, continue to do them. Why you might ask? Because it’s what’s best for the economy.
I was thinking last night how my blog can essentially seen by anyone ― an unsettling idea to say the least ― and that thinking turned into the realization that people from the distant future could one day look upon my blog after I’ve become emperor of sound, space, and other assorted lunch meats. Then I thought to myself that by that time comes, there should be technology that would allow me to send future messages to one of my former selves. So, due to these recent revelations, I’ve decided to write a letter to my 9 year old self.
This is yourself but older. I know that I don’t need to show you any proof of this because you should already be expecting me. Well, well, where to start? I didn’t think it was possible, but we did get uglier. You are ranked 3rd world-wide behind the offspring of Carrot Top and Richard Simmons’ afros and some guy named Robert Pattinson. Word of advice, most of your same-grade peers at VCC grow-up and become model type beautiful. So you should try and stick with them as much as possible, that way some of your U-G-L-Y might rub off. You will become the greatest African American hockey prospect in the world at age 15, but you decide to put your talent in a safety deposit box for security reasons. Darth Vader is indeed your father ― it just so happens that Chewbacca is Luke’s father. I know what you’re thinking, “ooh, ooh, ooh” ― so you may want to begin sending Father’s Day cards now.
Turns out Michael Jackson is neither a zombie, ethereal being, nor space pilot for some Disney 4-D Space Core. He is mortal and unfortunately does pass away. Do not fret because he died saving Mary Jane Watson from a burning bush. Regarding life in high school, ask Mom to be home-schooled immediately. If you end up going to high school, take a bullet proof vest. There is so much to tell you, but unfortunately I don’t want to have the time. In summation, true friends and family come along in time. There’s no need to worry your head off at all, because before long you will truly have a unit of people that you may call your kin. Some might even read your blog.
I was thinking last night how my blog can essentially seen by anyone ― an unsettling idea to say the least ― and that thinking turned into the realization that people from the distant future could one day look upon my blog after I’ve become emperor of sound, space, and other assorted lunch meats. Then I thought to myself that by that time comes, there should be technology that would allow me to send future messages to one of my former selves. So, due to these recent revelations, I’ve decided to write a letter to my 9 year old self.
Dear 9 Year-Old Youth Boy,
This is yourself but older. I know that I don’t need to show you any proof of this because you should already be expecting me. Well, well, where to start? I didn’t think it was possible, but we did get uglier. You are ranked 3rd world-wide behind the offspring of Carrot Top and Richard Simmons’ afros and some guy named Robert Pattinson. Word of advice, most of your same-grade peers at VCC grow-up and become model type beautiful. So you should try and stick with them as much as possible, that way some of your U-G-L-Y might rub off. You will become the greatest African American hockey prospect in the world at age 15, but you decide to put your talent in a safety deposit box for security reasons. Darth Vader is indeed your father ― it just so happens that Chewbacca is Luke’s father. I know what you’re thinking, “ooh, ooh, ooh” ― so you may want to begin sending Father’s Day cards now.
Turns out Michael Jackson is neither a zombie, ethereal being, nor space pilot for some Disney 4-D Space Core. He is mortal and unfortunately does pass away. Do not fret because he died saving Mary Jane Watson from a burning bush. Regarding life in high school, ask Mom to be home-schooled immediately. If you end up going to high school, take a bullet proof vest. There is so much to tell you, but unfortunately I don’t want to have the time. In summation, true friends and family come along in time. There’s no need to worry your head off at all, because before long you will truly have a unit of people that you may call your kin. Some might even read your blog.
With absolutely no sincerity,
Umm duh! You
I laughed through this entire thing. Oh my gosh. Our young selves were so awkward. I often think "I wish I could just reach back and show me that it's gonna be okay. That I'll turn out a little cooler than expected." Lol.
ReplyDeleteUmmm let's hope you don't do anything of the sort, because if you got any cooler, I'm pretty sure that time would collapse in on itself and the world would explode. Then there'd be no In N' Out. Are you telling me you want to be responsible for the decimation of In N'Out?!!
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