1. Define goals. Goals should be vague dreamlike ideations [*] which freckle the horizon, as if shrouded in a stubborn, pungent swamp mist. Advance toward these, your laughable Sisyphean goals, and watch them recede. Your destiny hates you, runs to the toothless hooker on the corner, becomes her destiny. It is much easier giving handjobs. Ask Meredith Viera. See also "Welcome to Much Less."
[* e.g., transmogrification, inventing colorful and expensive plastic shoes, slaying god and usurping his throne -- suffused with beatific farts]
2. Slower traffic keep right. Right is located south and east of forward, the vacant lane, except for the DiGiorno pizza semi. I hate you, Buick. I hate you too, maroon Dodge Caravan. You'll mewl through terrors yet unconceived for your breach of etiquette. They're designing and building holding cells (as I type) on undiscovered islands for your plucking and charbroiling. Cruel but never unusual: I'm on the way to the bookstore... See also "Gitmore."
3. Reread this.
