Why is there life?
is nothing more than a record album.
We all come out, hot off the press, screaming at the top of our lungs, with the same amount of play time, which is 876,000 hours.
The needle is then placed in the groove and so begins our song.
Now, of course, not everybody's needle makes it all the way to the end of their record. Which in reality is the center of the sphere, just before the inner circle of cardboard.
But, if that does occur, the arm will automatically lift straight up in the air, swing back over to the cradle and sit back down to rest. Or perhaps another album will drop and the needle will be called upon again.
As I recall, not all of those arms worked. In those cases the needle would just stay there in no man's land, not making a sound, with the album spinning underneath it, until a storm passed through and the power went out. Or else your dad walked into the empty room, turned off all the lights and the record player and bitched about the electric bill.
Why are there so many problems in life?
Sometimes albums have scratches. Almost all do. This can cause your needle to jump ahead a few years or get stuck in a groove. If this happens you might keep on singing the same words over and over and over,
"Hey Jude, don't make it bad. You take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her under your skin. Then you begin, to make it better Better, better, better, better, better.
Na, na na na na na na, na na na na, hey Jude Na, na na na na na na, na na na na, hey Jude Na, na na na na na na, na na na na, hey Jude."
Until somebody kicks you.
Does life really speed up, the older you get?
No, not true.
The record player remains at a constant 33rpms no matter your age.
This is how it works.
Using the above diagram, let's begin at the letter A.
You see that little white dot that is circled down there on the right hand side?
That dot represents one moment in your life song. A person is only in one moment. That moment is called, now.
Once the now is over, it is over.
I have just been through several nows, while explaining this. Because as I said, a moment is only a moment.
Here comes another one.
Just like that.
Now, you will be able to understand how life can seem
to pick up speed.
Let us move over to moment B.
Do you see B?
There are already many little white, now, dots, behind you. When they are behind you, they are called, dots of memories.
And even though you have all of those memory dots, life as you know it, is still no longer than the now, that you are in.
And now it is already gone.
By the time your needle reaches C, you have even more of those little fucking dots. They are piling up behind you like the little white Styrofoam beads that are inside a bean bag chair, unless your dog tears a hole in it and runs through the house, swinging it from side to side.
And yet, even with all those gazillions of memory dots, your life is still, in reality, only as long as, right now.
And now it is gone again, with a few more dots.
Why do I always fuck every thing up?
Let us take a look at K.
It appears that this album has a pretty decent scratch in it. Although, I have seen worse. The K-zone is, needle jumping turf. And this guy is going to have a rough period every time his needle reaches it.
This clearly indicates that it is nobody's fault when all of a sudden, for no good reason, everything goes to hell.
It is the gol darn scratches on the gol darn albums.
But of course, the scratches occur, when proper care has not been given.
Why does aging have to be so brutal?
If you are lucky enough to have your needle make it all the way to the letter I, you are going to be pretty wrinkled up.
So, do not waste your money on those expensive lotions at this point, even if your daughter in law sells Mary Kay. Or, if you feel the need to help out, just buy it for someone else. Preferably for someone who is back there between the letters A and F.
Why do some people die so young?
Pretend that you are at a party and another album has just dropped down the peg onto the turn table. The arm moves and hovers over the top of the new spinning disc. The arm lowers itself and places the needle into the groove.
"Help, I need somebo....."
is all the further this poor guys song gets, because just then, that loser who was spitting into all of the Coca cola cups that were lined up on the table, while their owners were out on the dance floor, has been spotted. And then that other big guy who plays defense on your high school foot ball team, picks him up by his underwear, gives him a wedgey and throws him across the room and he lands right on top of the record player.
The spitting loser will live. But his needle obviously just hit a scratch in his life album.
Unfortunately, the life song of the guy who had been named, Help! by the Beatles, has just been cut short. That crash was bigger than a scratch.
You see, it is a crap shoot as to what is going to send your needle into a tail spin and when.
But it is entirely possible that your needle could make it all the way to J.
If it does, then you are one hundred years old and all of your crowns fell out a long time ago.
But no matter.
You win the jack pot.
Wait. I have another question. If we all start with the same amount of play time, why do some people live to be more than the allotted one hundred years?
Those are the albums playing on phonographs with broken arms. They will keep spinning past their time until somebody pulls the plug.
Wait!!! Don't go!! You never answered my question.
What was your question?
I asked you in the very beginning, "Why is there life? And all you did was talk about albums and white dots and Styrofoam balls inside bean bag chairs. What I want to know is, why is there life to begin with?
Because somebody wants to play your album, you moron.