Better Get Your Bucket
You know about the Bucket List, right? It's this self-entitled boomer fantasy that a person's life will magically have deeper meaning if they create an inventory of all the goofy, pointless shit they need to do before they die and, on the odd eventuality that they bother to turn off the TV and get off the couch, actually undertake them.
You know the sort of things I mean... snort a line of coke off Angelina Jolie's uvula or rock-climb Mount Rushmore in a bunny suit or hang-glide with Joe Biden over an active volcano.
For you, personally, creating one of these things may be a hoot but listening to someone enumerate their Bucket List is like enduring a recitation of this weird dream they had last night after eating a whole broccoli-and-goat-cheese pizza.
Look, if you have to make a Bucket List you're automatically a loser anyway. You see, the rich and powerful don't make bucket lists... they LIVE the bucket list. Every goddamn day. Sadly, this usually manifests itself as 300-foot yachts with the bilges crammed full of underage Phillipino sex slaves but, hey, it's not near as exciting as refilling propane tanks down at the Walgreens. Right?
But, believe it or not, I have a bucket list of my own. Here it is:
(1) Leave behind as small a greasy stain on this benighted planet as possible.