Hey Kids! Skippy back again. You folks I get a lot of mail from my beloved Skip Army. Cards, letters, emails, you name it, I receive a load of it, and it seems to have one overriding theme...how much I suck.
Well in honor of this magazine's Fourth Anniversary, the mouthbreathers in charge have decided to rerun my very first column. You think I can't write now? Check out this masterpiece...
Skippy's Guide to Life and Eternal Happiness
Why is Skippy Here?
Hey kids! Skippy here. I'm sure you're all wondering, "Who is this guy and where does he get off giving me, (a certified net-cruiser) advice on how to live what I jokingly refer to as my life?" Well boys and girls the answer to that is simple, I have the access. As a matter of fact, access is our word of the decade (I considered doing a word of the day, but that's a little too much), access is what life is all about, what makes the world go round, what makes the birds sing, what is a many splendoured thing, that's right access. Why are you so often miserable in your day to day grind? Because you don't have the access that you want, to the girl, to the guy, to the job, to the money, to the fame, to all the things that would turn your miserable little existence into something that could rightfully be called a life. You are all wondering, don't deny it. I can hear the wheels turning, "How do I get the access that I desire?" The answer, simple, you can't. I certainly can't help you, I can barely finish a column a month and you want me solve all of your damn problems? The key is to accept that you probably have all of the access you ever will. Yes I know that at first glance this is a depressing thought. We all want that all inclusive backstage pass to happiness, but let's face it, for most of us, the credentials are rejected and that 6'6" bouncer is bearing down on us with a big ol' grin.
So what do we do, how can we get along in world that frankly, doesn't seem to want us here. Simple, infomercials. Now I realize we can't buy happiness from an 800 number no matter how many operators are standing by, but we can buy hope. To be honest, until hope is crushed under someone's boot, it's the best substitute to happiness you can find. The best part, it's for sale! Every night, all across this world, people go to sleep content with the knowledge that this time the miracle car wax will turn their '82 Corolla into a Corvette. As long as there's a pudgy guy with an accent selling vegetable peelers at three in the morning, there will be hope.
The bright side to all of this is that you probably aren't that
pathetic a specimen. I mean you have access to a computer, you have access
to the net. If you are reading this at work, you have a job that doesn't
require that much of you. If you are reading this at home you're leading a
cutting-edge existence. If you are reading this at four-thirty in the
morning , bleary-eyed from a day of fruitless job searching, penniless,
homeless and to be quite frank, the person you're staying with is probably
sick to death of you and you're incessant whining, then just disregard the
first part of this paragraph. Because boyo, you are the one whose life makes
us all feel a little better about things. But if you are not in the
hard-core loser category, if you have a job, a place to live, the ability to
read truly witty stuff like this. Then by all means quit your damn
sniveling, stay up late, order that abdominizer, and keep hope alive.