A series of posts this audacious requires somewhat of an introduction, so allow me to get that out of the way:
My name is unimportant for the most part, but if you somehow managed to reach this blog post without reading it in enormous letters up at the top of the page, then you’re in need of a brand of advice well outside that which I am prepared to offer. I am twenty-three years old, a fact which is of slightly more significance, as it constitutes one of the central tenets of this series’ composition: I am at an age that uniquely qualifies me to tell you how to live your life. You see, at twenty-three, I am old enough to be smarter than you, but not old enough to know any better.
And that’s it. That’s the entire introduction. The only two things you need to know are that I am currently twenty-three, and that I am going to tell you how to fix your life, which is most likely a huge, sloppy mess of drama and contradictions. I don’t have the slightest clue what other information you’re expecting me to include here; if you’re bracing yourself for me to cordially express my wish that the contents of this series improve the quality of your life, then perhaps you’re taking the wrong approach to my writing?
You see, there is simply no need for wishing. I know for a fact that, if taken entirely seriously, and acted on in complete earnest, the contents of my upcoming posts will fix everything that is wrong with your current existence (undoubtedly quite a lot). I have conducted at least three hours of research (there’s a lesson in this series about research which will thoroughly explain why three hours is more than enough; I forget which one it is, but you’ll know it when you see it) in the course of preparing for the upcoming posts, so I’ve completed all of the hard work for you. All you need to do is blindly apply the principles outlined in this series to your own life, and reap the profits from my heavy lifting.
Whether I am sharing this information out of the goodness of my heart, or because I aspire to make ridiculous sums of money from a potential book deal is really not the issue at hand, and is something that I recommend you refrain from asking. What is important here is the fact that the words written here (all of them) express sentiments that are unquestionably correct, and you would do well to take my advice (all of it).
Self-improvement is one of those things that you really shouldn’t dilly-dally with, so I recommend bookmarking this page and checking back every day. It’s also not something that you should half-ass, so I recommend reading each post multiple times, possibly even taking notes as you do so. It’s also something that everybody should aspire to, so if you have any friends in your train wreck of an existence who aren’t already reading my blog, send them a link, or even print them a copy (or at least make them print their own). You can in fact put a price on improving your quality of life, and that price is the price of internet access (or paper and ink, but you know… whatever).
So find yourself a comfortable place to sit—because you’ll be sitting there a while, if you know what’s good for you—and get to reading. You know, the posts. By which I mean the actual posts. Not this introduction, which is really sort of a waste of both your time and mine. Everything you needed to know about this series was already mentioned in the title; there is no practical reason I needed to write this introduction aside from shattering (and, admittedly, also fulfilling) your narrow-minded ideals regarding how a series of blog posts should be written.
… Are you still here? You don’t give up, do you? Well, this tells me two things. First, you’re tenacious, which is a good quality, and one that will help you immeasurably as you work your way through this series. Second, you don’t fucking listen, and that’s just going to be problematic. Well, troublemaker, let’s get started, shall we?
Tags: advice, arrogance, improvement, Pointing Out the Obvious, poto, pride, self-help, series