There are going to be times in your life when you extend your hand. You may be offering assistance or asking for it, or it may be a gesture of invitation or love or friendship or compassion. The reasons are inconsequential. The fact remains that those times will come, no matter who you are or what kind of life you lead. But there are some people that, when these times comes, will be unable to recognize that it’s all meaningless. Just a useless gesture, offering ones’ hand to something that doesn’t exist, a phantom, an illusion, or rather, a delusion, built up in the mind to make life a little easier, to create the image that there’s actually something worth trying for, something worth reaching out and straining to grab. But there isn’t. The Holy Grail was smashed to dust centuries ago. Whatever quest you think you’re on, what you’re really doing is driving to AM-PM to grab a 64-oz. suicide mix of Sprite, Dr. Pepper, and Orange Bang. That deep, passionate kiss with your one true love is really a hard smack upside the head. Eventually, you get enough of these smacks that your eyes twitch open, just for a second, the briefest of seconds, and immediately slam shut again, because you don’t like what you see, the cruel hard reality that dances around you in a maelstrom of taunting malevolence. Things sure aren’t as they seem, trust me, they’re much worse. Try to kill yourself and the noose will break or the gun won’t fire, and you’ll end up in the hospital for six months, after which you’re put into therapy where they tell you the you’ve got everything to live for, including the seven million dollar hospital bill. There’s no way you can win, you know. You can’t even break even. Just ask Isaac Newton. The best you can do is try to lose as little as possible, which means ceasing all bets immediately. After all, if you’ve got nothing at stake, you’ve got nothing to lose. And that’s the best condition you can be in, because no matter how much you try, you’re not going to win the jackpot or the new car or the trip to France or the lifetime supply of oatmeal. You’re not even going to be sent home with a copy of the fucking home game. See, it’s just one big, cruel hoax. That’s just part of my proof that there is some sort of higher power, you see, because whoever he is, he’s laughing his head off at you right now. He knows the plot. He knows the story. After all, he’s the writer of the pathetic sitcom that is your life. He’s got his bag of popcorn and can of beer, and he laughs so much at your attempts to come out on top that during the commercial he’s got to fart like a car with emission problems. I’m reminded of the term "Pissing into the wind". That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? You study hard in school, you work hard, you’re nice to everyone, you’re going great, you’re Mr. Wonderful... and ten years later you’re in the gutter, broke, diseased, smelly, and a virgin. Even hookers won’t look your way ‘cuz they know you don’t have any cash. You decide to end it all by leaping in front of a truck, but the driver slams on the breaks and comes to a halt before turning you into a smear on the highway... then he jumps out and works you over with his brass knuckles for screwing up his schedule. Then try to take the other direction. Drop out of school, freeload off of people ‘til you’re thirty, get high and drunk and laid every day... and by the time you’re thirty-five, you’ve got broken kneecaps and your penis is sliced off because your life of hedonism has pissed off plenty of people by now. Hell, the world won’t even let you moderate. You can’t keep things balanced, because it all keeps piling up until the slightest disturbance, the touch of a feather, sends you tumbling into the meat grinder. So here’s what you do; severe all ties with everybody, everything, and go find yourself a dark corner. Preferably damp and musty. You just crouch down there, pull your knees up to your chest, and hum a little ditty to yourself. Can’t win when you’re like that, but at least you won’t lose anything else. After all, do you really want your heart ripped out?