It’s 7:05 in the evening on a Saturday night and I’m at home watching Netflix, drinking Powerade and smoking myself into a coma. I am living the same life as 70% of the students in American universities and for the first time I’m feeling a twinge of guilt.
There’s not a single defined growth or redeeming quality earned from doing what I’m doing (nothing productive) during my off-time, though I tell myself the work I do validates me somehow. My residency is thoroughly urban, but I feel like I live as trailer trash trapped in the big city. I am trailer trash, deep down below the obvious honkyisms, thanks to my formative years before Kindergarten spent in San Marcos. That must be where I get my love of Mexican food from.
Every damn episode of South Park can be made with a rational, Mad-Libs approach: take a movie genres (classic and/or throwback characteristics will manifest on the artsy-fartsy side), blend it with 25 to 50 popular memes, marinate it in a heavy media-skewing slant, add a few political and hot news topics and say “fuck” like crazy the entire time. I love it: like a Tom & Jerry cartoon, we know there will always be another show next week despite any deaths or plot holes. That is the “classic art of the cartoon” if you want a phrase that could (and did) headline a college film essay, and I could easily expound on why for hours, but I won’t. Instead, I’ll talk about more lucrative ways to sell your body while losing weight and adding six inches to your dick!