Today I am supposed to be writing an essay. But I seem to be really busy with pressing matters that are not writing an essay. I am not entirely unhappy with this.
Firstly, it was pretty darn important that I check every one of my email accounts in case some Nigerian Prince would tell me that I’ve won $1000 000 british pounds in the lottery. I could really use that kind of money, you know? And then I was having a conversation in the studio about pelicans and their size in relation to seagulls, which of course I had to supply visual references for.
An hour of looking at pictures of seagulls and pelicans has taught me that there are a lot of bizarre photos of birds on the internet and a lot of people like taking photos of seagulls at the beach.
Here is a bird just chillin’ in a pelican’s beak.
Here’s a pelican trying to intimidate a woman (or flirt with her)
Here’s a pelican and seagull chillin’ on the grass.
This is my favourite picture of a seagull, ever.
Here’s a seagull taking a selfie as his seagull gang buddies attack a defenseless climber. (seagulls are notorious)
Here’s a seagull stealing this woman’s second ice cream cone.
This seagull probably wants to eat your soul.
Anyway, after an hour of sifting through google images, I realized that, yeah, ok, I should probably stop being silly and do some serious work on my essay. So I was about to delve into some rich psychoanalytic theory, and then…
it hit me.
I will never be Brad Pitt.
Even with blonde hair, I’ll never be Brad Pitt.
This is a sad realization.
So I decided that I should give myself a night off to deal with this realisation and do my essay tomorrow.
I mean, it’s not every day you realize that you’ll never be Brad Pitt and it is quite sad news and I think I deserve to have a break to deal with this emotional turmoil.
Below is evidence of my never-going-to-be-Brad-Pitt revelation.
I can’t even grow a proper teen beard.
So I am going to go home and try to deal with this emotional scar which has revealed itself to me as a repression probably caused by reading Freudian essays on subconscious repression.
I’m sure I’ll heal in time.