Chapter 3: Role Model

Jason

Chapter 3: Role Model

            Life has a way of making a perfectly normal day seem like you deserve to be the lowliest scumbag in the universe. Today went perfectly fine, which is extremely counter-intuitive to what your typical schoolday. How odd. During the trip home, I predicted that life was gonna fuck me in the ass in the EVENING, since the day at school was relatively calm. Life is like that: it either makes you feel so goddamn depressed during the day (to the point where you contemplate suicide) and then makes the evening uneventful, or makes the schoolday calm, and proceeds to make your evening a living hell. Think of it like this: There is an amount of torment that you must inevitably suffer each day, and life gives it to you in many unexpected ways. For instance, you might have the greatest evening of your life, but experience the most painful heartbreak of your life beforehand. In a nutshell, the Lord taketh, and the Lord giveth. It just seemth that he taketh thingth away more than he giveth thingth.

            Today, good fortune came in the form of a relatively normal schoolday, in return for an automated gate closing in on me and nearly squashing my ass. Oh, and did I mention the fact that the internet connection is acting up? Best part is, on top of all that, I feel bored as all hell. At least until I start watching a few YouTube videos on people's various “let's play” series, that is. As a matter of fact, I binge-watch Hearthstone and Dishonored 2 gameplay during the tiny breaks that I give myself after completing a paragraph of writing this page. OK, NOW I don't feel as bored as I used to be.

            Of course, I should probably know better than to think that all this great shit will last forever. According to past experiences, Life starts going downhill just as you begin hoping that good shit will continues to come out of it. When my parents get home, they'll probably scold me for not sutdying for my exams and instead prioritizing the creation my book, which is apparently tantamount to lying down on my bed and scratching my ass. What a fool I was to think that life was gonna get any better from here. All that life will do is just end up getting worse, just like it always have, and will always do. God, if the message you're trying to convey here is that I don't deserve to be anything other than a useless, lethargic dickhead, I don't know what the hell you're trying to say. Asshole.

          (You know, I think I might have a better idea than to moan on about your oh-so-shitty life) Wait, what the fuck? Who was that (It's the author of this book, smart guy)? Seriously? Then who am I (you, my dear friend, are just another character in this book)? Hold on, hold on. I'm the author of this book, so what does that make you? I'm confused here.

            (Well, I think that I might have a pretty hard goddamn time explaining this bit to you. Think about yourself like this: you're a fictionalized version of me, in the book that I'm writing right now. I know it doesn't make any sense, but just try and go along with it anyway) Oooookay then, slow the fuck down (Jesus Christ, I just told you to go along with-never mind, carry on). So lemme get this straight: I'm you (that is correct). You're the author of this book, and therefore also the creator of the universe I'm in (yes...). So technically speaking, I'm not actually a living, breathing human being, but instead merely a word on a book page (couldn't have said it better myself. How do you feel? Is the sensation of existential dread overcoming you now?). Holy shit. That was...enlightening.

            (But seriously, enough about discussing the inconsequential nature of your existence. Tell the reader a little about yourself) Very well, I'll tell you a little about myself, if that's what you guys want. I was born on Octo- (No, dammit. I meant, tell us a little about yourself right NOW. Skip the boring shit). Fine, FINE. God. OK, for one, I am not what you'd call a “smart guy”. I mean, once upon a time, I USED to be smart. And by smart, I mean like, REALLY goddamn smart (can you please stop abusing the same word over and over? Out of all people, you should probably know that). As a matter of fact, I was so frickin' intelligent that back in elementary school, people would turn to me for assistance on science, math and English. That's right, ME (you done filling yourself with ego yet? We'd like to move on with your story here).

            But over time, I've gotten dumber and dumber (glad to hear a bit of honesty). The boy who was once an all-knowing genius on most academic subjects slowly transformed into an idiot during his high school years. You know how you're supposed to be MORE disciplined and shit as you grow up, so that you have better survivability against the constant onslaught of tasks? Well, that rule also applies to me, but in reverse; instead of being more intelligent, I can now say without a doubt that I have turned into one of the most dim-witted motherfuckers in the entire goddamn YEAR LEVEL. The only skill that hasn't completely withered up to this day is my English, which helps me get through one of the many treacherous predicaments I encounter (one subject, mind you, fucking ONE).

            You know how in most fictional stories, the protagonist is normally this badass, six-packed, testosterone-filled motherfucker that is capable of performing both mental and physical feats that would be impossible to do in real life? In addition, said protagonists are also on the brighter side of the moral spectrum, doing the “right thing” and always having to face off with the “bad guy” throughout the course of the story. I fully realize that this character archetype is a bit of an overused cliche, and yet I use the aforementioned heroic characteristics as the core traits of the main protagonist in MY story as well. Do you know why (Ignore him; this is a rhetorical question, so you're not supposed to answer)? Well, allow me to explain (see?).

            Imagine if the book I was making was a story about my life, my journey to create a book in the midst of a hellish journey through the barriers of the academical system.  that book would be boring as hell. As to WHY the book is boring as hell, you may ask? First of all, there would be the issue of the book's protagonist, who in this case, would be me. When people hear the words “main character”, the first thing that comes into mind is a disciplined, charitable, hard-working man who is in a constant, never-ending battle against a clearly evil and ruthless antagonist. I mean, just imagine. How disappointed will the readers be when they discover that the protagonist of the story they're reading is just some frail, pragmatic piece of shit?

            People don't want something different. OK, scratch that: people want something different, sure, but at the end of the day, you just go back to the same story, the same characters, and pretty much the same everything. Take romance, for example. The plotline follows the same sequence of events, over and over again: Boy meets girl (or girl meets boy, depending on who the author decides to choose as the narrator), they spend time together, they realize that they're made for each other, then some terrible tragedy contests their love, they lose each other (at this point, the reader starts bawling their eyes out internally as they frantically breeze through the book with the sole intent of discovering the ending), and they eventually get back together.

            Same goes for the characters, and not just for the romance genre: As you flip through the pages of tens (or maybe even hundreds) of books and passively gaze at the glorious sight of a movie (action, drama, sci-fi, they're all the same), you'll eventually notice a certain pattern appearing from these tales. Video games, movies, novels, you name it, I'll stereotype it. That's why in this world, it's so rare to find a book or entertainment programme that dares to defy the norms of your typical “predictable-plot-followed-by-even-more-predictable-ending” story, if you know what I mean. Once in a while you get some brutally different stories, such as “The Catcher In the Rye” or “Fight Club”. Hell, throw in the “Stanley's Cup” episode from South Park while you're at it. All these are stories that dare to defy the stereotype of your modern-day book that you pick up from the library near your house or even that Steven Seagal movie you saw with your girlfriend last week in the cinema downtown (assuming you have one...). Fuck it, this even applies to Friday the 13th and all those slasher movies that have countless sequels and prequels and end up getting shat on by the critics over at Rotten Tomatoes.

            Now don't get me wrong; I love mindless violence, comedy and sex as much as the next guy, and I honestly would've never brought this topic up had it not been for me creating my OWN story. Originally, I intended to create a book on how I created a book whilst simultaneously dealing with the perils that threaten my mental state (#bookception), but I then realized how much of a terrible role model I'd be. I mean, look at this fucker: lethargic, hedonistic, ugly... you name the negative trait, I've probably got it. Can you imagine if I became the story's main protagonist? Even if I end up making a book about my “school diaries” or some shit, what would the moral of the story be? To be a lazy piece of shit who only prioritizing doing the things he likes? Sure, I might've made a book and everything, but that doesn't automatically mean that the message I'm trying to convey here is positive. Hell, it doesn't automatically mean that I'M classified as a good role model.

            But maybe this book doesn't even NEED a good role model. Shit, why not just make the protagonist an evil-ass bastard? I'll tell you why: it's because I want to make the book about a fantasized version of the life I'm currently living, a visualization of a perfect world. OK, fine, I admit it's not exactly a “perfect” world, but it's...awesome. There's simply no other word for it. In the fantasized world, everything is as I WANT it to be, as opposed to being dominate by the unpredictable cruelty of life.

            Jesus Christ, that was tiring. Dude, can I just go back to working on the book now? I'm dying (not literally, obviously) to discuss the backstory of the in-book universe, and my parents are yelling at me for “not working on the book I said I was totally gonna be working on”. Besides, I'm sure that most audience members will probably throw this book out a goddamn window if I don't start writing (typing, technically, but you get my meaning) about something that's actually exciting (Fine, fine. Continue with your story, but remember that we'll be doing more of this shit in the future. You're not off the hook yet, amigo). Thank you. I'm sure that the readers are grateful of this course of action as well (because they get to listen to something that ain't completely boring as fuck? Yeah, never doubt it).

            Look, can you just shut the fuck up so we can continue (Fine, fine. Just sayin'. Jeez)? Alright, onto the next chapter, I guess.