stand-up
member of Goo House Comedy

former writer for Laughspin.
humorist for Riled Up Journal.
contributor to McSweeney's

@Lucas_Gardner
creator of the original @Bill_Nye_tho twitter.
@love_that_Goku
@OfficerMoses
@DilbertButGay

YouTube


 

Please Steal My Vespa

here is a new piece i wrote for McSweeney’s Internet Tendency

Dearest Neighbors,



You may have noticed the new Vespa motor scooter that has been parked outside my house. I had asked my wife Connie for a motorcycle for my birthday, but she said they’re too dangerous. On the morning of my birthday she surprised me with a brand new Vespa scooter instead. If I don’t use the Vespa she takes it personally and gets very upset, so I’ve had to drive it to work everyday. It is humiliating. I have “accidentally” left the Vespa un-chained, with the key in the ignition, in my front yard every night for the past three weeks and none of you have stolen it. I appreciate your moral decency in that regard, and your neighborliness means a lot to me, but I am giving you the go-ahead to please steal my Vespa.

I really don’t want to hurt Connie’s feelings. I don’t want to return the Vespa or sell it or lie to her in any way, but if one of you were to steal this glorified sidecar out of my yard so that I could tell her honestly that it was stolen, I’d be forever in your debt.

I don’t know what else I could do to make this Vespa any easier to steal. Last weekend I left a big bag of money (clearly labeled with three dollar signs: $$$) on the seat of the Vespa hoping it would lure one of you over, and then after you took the money maybe you’d say to yourself, “I may as well take this Vespa too.” When I woke up, the money was gone but the Vespa was still there. I am not mad about the money. I don’t even care to know who did it. How about this? Whoever the culprit is, just put the money in my mailbox tonight and I won’t ask any questions. Just please, take the Vespa.

Maybe you guys are hesitant to steal my Vespa because you don’t know how to drive one? I promise you there is nothing to it. Honestly, if you can ride a carousel you can drive a Vespa. Nevertheless, I’ve purchased an instructional book called So You Bought a Vespa, which I will leave on the ground next to the Vespa tonight. 

I’m also willing to pour some money into the Vespa and really soup it up if it’s not good enough as is. NOS, decals, whatever you want. I will put a jet engine in this stupid thing if you’d be more inclined to steal it. Even if one of you could just steal a wheel off the Vespa that would be good enough. I wouldn’t be able to ride it with just one wheel. You’re all smart and creative people and I’m sure one of you could think of something cool to do with a free Vespa wheel.

Time is a bit of an issue here. Connie is talking about going to a Vespa convention together next week and if it’s not stolen before then I might have to “accidentally” crash it into a tree or building. The only other idea I had would be to get a DWI on the Vespa and lose my license to drive it. As some of you know I’ve been sober for 14 years and it would truly kill me to intentionally relapse just to lose my Vespa privileges.

I almost forgot—Connie started to notice that I was leaving the Vespa outside unchained to anything, so I had to start locking it up to keep up illusions. It’s a simple number-combination lock and the code is 1234. And let me repeat once more—I will NOTreport the theft to the police!!

Thanks for your help with this. I hope you know that I would do the same for any of you. And I hope this goes without saying but please do not tell Connie I’m making arrangements to have my own Vespa stolen.

Yours in friendship,
Lucas

please enjoy my “performance” from the last Goo House comedy show.

this is my contribution to Clayon Williams’ excellent Kloun College project:

klouncollege:

In lieu of a biography, the following is a short story dedicated to the memory of Kloun College Alumni Midas Arthur.
Midas Arthur was not local. No one really knew where he was from. He certainly didn’t have a good grasp of English. Sometimes he would mutter to himself in his native tongue, under his breath as he walked around campus, his eyes always pointed directly at his feet, and no one could ever identify the language. 
Midas went through his freshman and sophomore years without making any friends. He may not have made eye contact with a single human being those two years. He was a bit of a repulsive sort. When his fellow students saw Midas walking towards them on the street, they would cross to the other side. When Midas sat next to a fellow student in a lecture, they’d pretend to go to the bathroom just so that when they came back they could sit in a different chair. They pulled that bathroom trick instead of just immediately moving in order to spare his feelings. They didn’t think he’d notice that they sat at a different chair. He did. 
There was some chatter about Midas. People would quietly assert things like, “He must be some kind of weirdo super genius or something.” He was not. He didn’t pass a single class for as long as he attended Kloun. Sometimes the chatter was a bit more malicious. “He’s probably, like, one of those weirdo school-shooter types.” Sometimes people weren’t so quiet when they said these things about Midas. They didn’t think he could understand what they were saying. He could. Midas couldn’t feel more lonely if he lived at the bottom of the ocean. 
One night, Wallace Bosstone, quarterback of the Kloun Football team and president of the Kappa Kappa Kloun fraternity, invited Midas to a party at the frat house, as a joke. “It’ll be hilarious,” he told the brothers. “We’ll see how wasted we can get him!” They didn’t think he would come. He did. As it turns out, Midas would have loved to make friends at Kloun all along. He was just waiting for someone to reach out. When Midas showed up to the party, everyone pretended like they were really excited to see him, so that he wouldn’t catch on to the fact that they invited him as a joke - so he wouldn’t realize that he was, essentially, an unwitting party clown. 
Midas was indeed fooled. He couldn’t believe he made so many friends so fast, with no effort. “Yo Midas, do a shot!” one of the Kappa Kappa Kloun brothers slurred as soon as Midas stepped foot in the house. Midas had never touched a drop of alcohol before, but he was excited to try. It looked fun in all the funny American movies. One shot turned into two, then four, and from there it’s a little fuzzy. As it turned out, Midas was a pretty fun guy when he felt welcomed and was continually fed booze through a funnel. He was actually quite the party animal. He would sing songs in whatever language he spoke, and would accompany them with silly little dances, which he had been privately rehearsing for years in case he ever got invited to a party. Midas may have been the clown, but there are some very rare cases where you actually laugh with the clown rather than at him.
 At around a 1:30 a.m., a very intoxicated Midas accidentally fell off the frat house balcony onto the lawn below, dampened with vomit and strewn with beer cans. A wave of stunned silence came over the crowd, until Midas finally stood up. “I’m okay! More shot! Excellent party!!” The crowd applauded and cheered: “You’re a legend Midas!” “King Midas!” “Ghhrghhhurghll MIDAS!!” It felt pretty good, so Midas went back upstairs and fell off the balcony again on purpose. He instantly became known as “the balcony guy.” Kappa Kappa Kloun invited him to every party, every weekend, from there on out, and he never missed one. Midas became quite the showman. He perfected the falling-off-the-balcony bit, honing it into a perfectly polished, Chaplin-level physical comedy routine. Sometimes he would do a little fake-out thing where he would teeter at the edge of the balcony for a few seconds, and then finally regain his balance. “Close one!” he would say. And then he’d fall, and the crowd would cheer.
In the last week of Midas’ sophomore year, Wallace Bosstone held the weekly Kappa Kappa Kloun party at his dad’s mansion. The whole 2014 class was there. Especially Midas. He was in perfect form that night. Midas began hamming it up as soon as he got in. He would do a shot, and then say “I’m a little tipsy! I better not go out on the balcony!” “DO IT!!!!” everyone cheered in unison. He had them in the palm of his ethnically ambiguous hand. “Okay, but I hope I do not fall!” he mugged. “Yeah!!!!” everyone cheered, knowing what was to come. “He’s gonna do the balcony thing!!!” Midas took his place on Mr. Bosstone’s balcony, and the crowd gathered in the front yard. “Be careful Midas!” some guy in the yard yelled, playing straight-man. Midas began to stumble. “Uh oh! I am losing my balance! Very scary!” At that moment, he realized how much taller this rich white guy’s mansion was than the Kappa Kappa Kloun frat house. 
He froze for several seconds, and the crowd grew impatient and the chatter of anticipation petered out. “Just fucking do it already” yelled some anonymous shirtless frat boy in the crowd. Midas took a deep breath. “I’m a legend,” he whispered to himself, but not in English. “King Midas.” Midas broke 11 of his 12 ribs. He broke both legs, his left wrist, and his right shoulder. He fractured his spine and skull, and landed on some broken glass that sliced up his face. He was pronounced dead at 3:36 a.m. on August 12th, 2012. Kappa Kappa Kloun was forcibly disbanded shortly after the incident, and a memorial service was held in Midas Arthur’s honor. Several Kappa Kappa Kloun brothers and several of Midas’ classmates eulogized the deceased alumni, and 100% of these eulogies consisted of stories about Midas falling off of balconies on purpose. They did not have much else to talk about in the way of Midas’ background, passions, aspirations, beliefs, accomplishments, etc., because they had never asked him about them.

                                                              https://twitter.com/Lucas_Gardner

this is my contribution to Clayon Williams’ excellent Kloun College project:


klouncollege
:

In lieu of a biography, the following is a short story dedicated to the memory of Kloun College Alumni Midas Arthur.

Midas Arthur was not local. No one really knew where he was from. He certainly didn’t have a good grasp of English. Sometimes he would mutter to himself in his native tongue, under his breath as he walked around campus, his eyes always pointed directly at his feet, and no one could ever identify the language.

Midas went through his freshman and sophomore years without making any friends. He may not have made eye contact with a single human being those two years. He was a bit of a repulsive sort. When his fellow students saw Midas walking towards them on the street, they would cross to the other side. When Midas sat next to a fellow student in a lecture, they’d pretend to go to the bathroom just so that when they came back they could sit in a different chair. They pulled that bathroom trick instead of just immediately moving in order to spare his feelings. They didn’t think he’d notice that they sat at a different chair. He did.

There was some chatter about Midas. People would quietly assert things like, “He must be some kind of weirdo super genius or something.” He was not. He didn’t pass a single class for as long as he attended Kloun. Sometimes the chatter was a bit more malicious. “He’s probably, like, one of those weirdo school-shooter types.” Sometimes people weren’t so quiet when they said these things about Midas. They didn’t think he could understand what they were saying. He could. Midas couldn’t feel more lonely if he lived at the bottom of the ocean.

One night, Wallace Bosstone, quarterback of the Kloun Football team and president of the Kappa Kappa Kloun fraternity, invited Midas to a party at the frat house, as a joke. “It’ll be hilarious,” he told the brothers. “We’ll see how wasted we can get him!” They didn’t think he would come. He did. As it turns out, Midas would have loved to make friends at Kloun all along. He was just waiting for someone to reach out. When Midas showed up to the party, everyone pretended like they were really excited to see him, so that he wouldn’t catch on to the fact that they invited him as a joke - so he wouldn’t realize that he was, essentially, an unwitting party clown.

Midas was indeed fooled. He couldn’t believe he made so many friends so fast, with no effort. “Yo Midas, do a shot!” one of the Kappa Kappa Kloun brothers slurred as soon as Midas stepped foot in the house. Midas had never touched a drop of alcohol before, but he was excited to try. It looked fun in all the funny American movies. One shot turned into two, then four, and from there it’s a little fuzzy. As it turned out, Midas was a pretty fun guy when he felt welcomed and was continually fed booze through a funnel. He was actually quite the party animal. He would sing songs in whatever language he spoke, and would accompany them with silly little dances, which he had been privately rehearsing for years in case he ever got invited to a party. Midas may have been the clown, but there are some very rare cases where you actually laugh with the clown rather than at him.

At around a 1:30 a.m., a very intoxicated Midas accidentally fell off the frat house balcony onto the lawn below, dampened with vomit and strewn with beer cans. A wave of stunned silence came over the crowd, until Midas finally stood up. “I’m okay! More shot! Excellent party!!” The crowd applauded and cheered: “You’re a legend Midas!” “King Midas!” “Ghhrghhhurghll MIDAS!!” It felt pretty good, so Midas went back upstairs and fell off the balcony again on purpose. He instantly became known as “the balcony guy.” Kappa Kappa Kloun invited him to every party, every weekend, from there on out, and he never missed one. Midas became quite the showman. He perfected the falling-off-the-balcony bit, honing it into a perfectly polished, Chaplin-level physical comedy routine. Sometimes he would do a little fake-out thing where he would teeter at the edge of the balcony for a few seconds, and then finally regain his balance. “Close one!” he would say. And then he’d fall, and the crowd would cheer.

In the last week of Midas’ sophomore year, Wallace Bosstone held the weekly Kappa Kappa Kloun party at his dad’s mansion. The whole 2014 class was there. Especially Midas. He was in perfect form that night. Midas began hamming it up as soon as he got in. He would do a shot, and then say “I’m a little tipsy! I better not go out on the balcony!” “DO IT!!!!” everyone cheered in unison. He had them in the palm of his ethnically ambiguous hand. “Okay, but I hope I do not fall!” he mugged. “Yeah!!!!” everyone cheered, knowing what was to come. “He’s gonna do the balcony thing!!!” Midas took his place on Mr. Bosstone’s balcony, and the crowd gathered in the front yard. “Be careful Midas!” some guy in the yard yelled, playing straight-man. Midas began to stumble. “Uh oh! I am losing my balance! Very scary!” At that moment, he realized how much taller this rich white guy’s mansion was than the Kappa Kappa Kloun frat house.

He froze for several seconds, and the crowd grew impatient and the chatter of anticipation petered out. “Just fucking do it already” yelled some anonymous shirtless frat boy in the crowd. Midas took a deep breath. “I’m a legend,” he whispered to himself, but not in English. “King Midas.” Midas broke 11 of his 12 ribs. He broke both legs, his left wrist, and his right shoulder. He fractured his spine and skull, and landed on some broken glass that sliced up his face. He was pronounced dead at 3:36 a.m. on August 12th, 2012. Kappa Kappa Kloun was forcibly disbanded shortly after the incident, and a memorial service was held in Midas Arthur’s honor. Several Kappa Kappa Kloun brothers and several of Midas’ classmates eulogized the deceased alumni, and 100% of these eulogies consisted of stories about Midas falling off of balconies on purpose. They did not have much else to talk about in the way of Midas’ background, passions, aspirations, beliefs, accomplishments, etc., because they had never asked him about them.

                                                              https://twitter.com/Lucas_Gardner

How I Would Have Photobombed The Most Famous Photographs Ever Taken

National Geographic “Afghan Girl” Photo

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Nothing too disrespectful - Probably would have gone with classic “bunny ears” or just made a silly face right behind the woman

Marilyn Monroe Getting Her Skirt Blown Up By A Sewer Grate Photo

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Would have been in the background crossing my fingers like I was saying, “I hope it gets blown ALL the way up!!!”

Protest at Tienanmen Square Photo

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Would have been in the background forming my hand into a gun and putting it up to my head as if to suggest I thought the protest was boring

Hindenburg Disaster Photo

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Would have been standing in the foreground making the “jerk-off” motion as if to say, “Great job steering the blimp… Not!”

V-J Day In Times Square” Kiss Photo

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Penis-into-vagina hand gesture behind the couple’s heads!!

American Soldiers Planting The Flag On Iwo Jima Photo

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Would have been standing in front, tilting my hands as if I was trying to tell the guys “It’s crooked fellas!!”

Original Loch Ness Monster Photo

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Would have held a word bubble next to the “monster’s” head like the monster is talking and in the word bubble it says, “I’m just a stick!!”

Original Bigfoot Photo

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Would have gotten into a humping pose right behind the beast 

Einstein With His Tongue Out

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Already funny enough

Hippie Girl Putting a Flower Into A Soldier’s Gun Photo

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Would have leaned in next to the girl and held my nose and made a grossed-out face like the girl was stinky!!

The Beatles Crossing Abbey Road Photo

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Would have gotten at the end of the line like I was the fifth Beatle

Twitter As A Scientific Resource

please enjoy my new piece for Riled Up Journal, in which i defend Twitter’s usefulness to science

I Am The Voice of the Voiceless

I have always fancied myself as somewhat of a “voice for the voiceless.” Someone who speaks for those who cannot be heard, because they don’t have the means to be heard, and maybe because people wouldn’t bother to listen to them anyway. I’ve become somewhat infamous for lending a voice to the underrepresented, the ignored, the forgotten, and the oppressed. I don’t mean to pat my own back or to self-aggrandize, but this is a natural drive I have - to make the unheard, heard.
 
One of the best things about being a voice for the voiceless is that you get to choose the voice, and imagine what the thing might say. For example, if I’m doing a voice for a garbage can, I might give it a cockney accent, and make it say something like “‘Ello there, go ‘ead and put your garbage in ‘ere, then.” If I’m pretending to do the voice of  something like a big old 18-wheeler truck, I’d probably give it sort of a hotheaded New-Yorker-guy type of voice, and it would always be talking about how it was in a hurry. “Outta my way, I’m haulin’ cargo!” it would bellow. On the opposite end of the spectrum, something like a microscope or a big science textbook would definitely have a nerd voice, and it would always be asking if anyone has seen its glasses. “Ummm excuse me, have you seen my glasses?” it would barely muster in its pathetic, nasally chirp.
 
When I’m pretending to do the voice of something really huge like the moon, I try to make it real deep and authoritative. I used to, when I would pretend to do the moon’s voice, give it kind of an “afro-jive” swagger, but I was accused of racism. It’s actually pretty often that I get accused of racism when I’m providing a voice for the voiceless. Newsflash, idiots: you can’t be racist against the moon. It’s a big rock, not a guy.
 
Certain things, like sand or a really, really oppressed demographic of people, aren’t very fun to do a voice for because it’s too hard and there’s not a lot to work with, so I don’t bother. Doing voices should be fun, not homework.
 
In some instances it can be hard to provide a voice for the voiceless because it’s not so easy to imagine exactly what the thing would sound like and what its point of view would be. As an example - who could say what an Inkjet printer would sound like or what its general vibe would be? When I’m pretending to do the voice of a printer, personally, I give it kind of a straight laced, boring office guy voice, and its always concerned about whether or not people received a certain document. “Did you get that document, Jerry? Should I send it again?” the Inkjet would always be asking. But other people might have a different take on it.
 
Another cool thing to remember is that, if you want, you can even do the voice of something that already has one. Like with a person that you don’t care for, when you see coming, you can pretend you’re their voice and you can say “Watch out everyone, I’m coming over there to do a bunch of lame shit.” Usually that’s even more fun than being a voice for the voiceless.
 
I’m not saying it takes a  hero to speak for those who cant speak for themselves, but I do think that it takes a courageous soul, and I do believe that without me, we might never have known how a tractor would sound.*
 
*like a Southern redneck guy
 

DID YOU DOWNLOAD 250 GBS OF MUSIC BY THE CRASH TEST DUMMIES?

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i have a piece published on McSweeney’s today. check it out here.

Dear Sir or Madam:

This is a warning from your Internet Service Provider. Your IP address has been used to download and/or share copyrighted content, and accordingly your internet service is at risk of being suspended. We are obliged to remind you that the downloading and/or distribution of exclusively owned or licensed content infringes copyright.

We’ve been notified that in the past month, you have downloaded 250 GBs of music by Canadian alternative folk-rock band the Crash Test Dummies. We thought maybe it was an error on our end, but we looked into it further and confirmed that you did indeed download 250 GBs of music by the Crash Test Dummies, creators of the 1993 hit single “Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm.” We did some research and it turns out the Crash Test Dummies’ entire catalog of music, even including side projects by the band’s members, should just barely weigh in at 1 GB, leading us to assume you either found and downloaded 249 GBs of unreleased music by the Crash Test Dummies (???), or downloaded their entire discography 250 times? We are baffled and fascinated. We have a few questions:

  • Did you think you were downloading something else?
  • Is it safe to assume that you, having downloaded over 200 GBs of Crash Test Dummies, only listen to Crash Test Dummies?
  • If you like Crash Test Dummies enough to download over 200 GBs of their music, shouldn’t you be buying it?
  • Can you give us just a general idea of what your personal life is like?
  • So was hearing “Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm” for the first time the greatest moment of your life? We bet.
  • Are you one of the Crash Test Dummies’ parents?
  • So, like, should we check out the Crash Test Dummies?
  • Is there some kind of ironic resurgence of Crash Test Dummies going on? We are all in our mid-40s here.
  • We’re wondering what you must look like and we literally can’t picture it. Can you respond to this email with an attached picture of yourself?
  • Would you maybe want us to send you some recommendations for other good music or are you good with the Crash Test Dummies?
  • Seriously why do you have 250 GBs of music by Canadian alternative folk-rock band the Crash Test Dummies in your possession?
  • What are the file sizes on these mp3s you’re downloading? Like 6 GB each?
  • In cases of extreme copyright infringement, the accused’s hard drive may be seized by the proper authority. If that were to happen, would they find even more Crash Test Dummies?
  • Is owning 250 GBs of Crash Test Dummies music something you openly tell people about or do you try to keep it on the down low?
  • Who do you think about at night before you fall asleep?
  • Do the Crash Test Dummies still tour and if not how are you dealing with that?
  • Say hypothetically you were forced to choose your favorite Crash Test Dummies’ song, and whichever one you pick, all the other ones disappear forever—would you lose your shit or what?
  • What is your favorite Crash Test Dummies lyric that isn’t“Mmm mmm mmm mmm/Mmm mmm mmm mmm/Mmm?”
  • We absolutely don’t want to get too pushy or throw around accusations or anything, but you’re not going to… kill the Crash Test Dummies are you?
  • Wait, did you maybe catch some sort of computer virus that automatically downloaded 250 GBs of music by the Crash Test Dummies onto your hard drive? Do you even know that it’s on there?
  • Again, any details about your personal life would really intrigue us. Marital status, hobbies (besides listening to the Crash Test Dummies), etc.

We remind you again that we will terminate your internet service if piracy of copyrighted content is traced to your IP again in the future. We don’t anticipate this being a problem because we assume 250 GBs of Crash Test Dummies has to be all of it, right?

We apologize if this letter reads as judgmental.

My Worst Break-up

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When my first girlfriend Tamara dumped me to be with an older boy named Dave, I felt like someone had shot me in the chest with an arrow, because earlier that day I had accidentally shot myself in the chest with an arrow. Tamara left me to be with an older boy named Dave, and I fell into a deep depression. The whole world seemed less vibrant. Colors weren’t as bright. Food didn’t taste as good, and throwing it on the floor because I didn’t like it wasn’t as satisfying as usual. I couldn’t even sleep at night, because I was too busy hanging out outside Tamara’a house.

Tamara was the most attractive girl I had ever met. She even made ordinary things look sexy. Just boring, everyday things, like eating a banana or walking around in the nude somehow became erotic when she did them. When we would make love, it was like our souls left out of our bodies and embraced each other, and then had sex.

I was on my most gentlemanly behavior around her. I would open doors for her and throw her coat down over puddles and generally just cater to her every need. When she would point out a spider on the wall I would kill it and she would thank me. When she pointed out a dog or stray housecat I would kill it and she would get mad. Eventually I realized that just because she pointed at an animal, that didn’t mean she wanted me to kill it.

I had this perfect fantasy about how we would live our life together. We would buy a nice house on a quiet, peaceful street. There would be this most gorgeous white picket fence out front, built around the statue she would help build of me. We would have four beautiful children and let her mother raise them.

When we split up, the recovery process was long and brutal. I fell into a pit of despair, and by that I mean I fell into a literal pit, because I was too busy thinking about Tamara to notice that I was about to walk into a pit. As I lay at the bottom of the pit feeling bad for myself, I eventually realized something - This was a metaphor. If I could climb out of this pit, I could overcome anything. Suddenly, escaping the pit became everything to me. I picked myself up, looked up towards the surface and felt a rush of adrenaline. I had the eye of the tiger, playing on my Zune. I doubted myself for a second, but I shook it off and prepared to scale the walls of the dark, unforgiving pit. I reached for rocks, vines and whatever else I could grip to hoist myself. Small step by small step, I finally made it to the surface and back to civilization. I rolled onto safe ground, stood up and looked back down into the pit, just taking a minute to bask in the private glory of my achievement. A few minutes later I accidentally walked into the pit again. 

The next day, after the fire department had helped me out of the pit, I was more depressed than ever. I decided to take a walk to do some thinking, and that’s when I accidentally fell into the pit again. After I was rescued from the pit, I vowed that this was the last straw. I HAD to turn my life around. I decided to focus my energy on my career and on my health. I began pursuing my dream job, I quit drinking and smoking, and I started jogging. It was after I started on this new path that the most astounding thing happened to me - I accidentally jogged into the pit. Eventually the city decided to fill the pit so that no one could fall into it anymore. And that’s when I knew I had won - I had finally overcome the biggest hurdle of my life. That was a huge relief, because I could start drinking and smoking again. Later that day I accidentally walked into a different pit. I was able to get out of that pit because it wasn’t as deep as that first pit, but on the way home, I fell into another pit.

The fist time you walk into a pit, you’re like, “Well, this can happen to anyone.” The second time you walk into a pit you’re like “Okay, this is a little embarrassing.” By the third pit you’re like, “I mean, really?”

But luckily, I eventually learned something very important - all that it really takes to heal, is time. All these years later, I have finally forgotten about Tamara, but I have to admit that sometimes at night when I’m looking at the moon, I find myself wondering if, at that exact moment, she’s out there somewhere watching the same documentary about the moon that I am. But I am 99% healed. I don’t even think of her when I fall into pits anymore. I just think, “Alright Lucas, how are you going to get out of this pit?” Then I call the fire department again, because I need them to come help me out of the pit.

Lucas Reviews the John Deere GX85 riding lawnmower

lucasreviewseverything:

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the John Deere GX85 riding lawnmower has been my main source of transportation ever since i pawned my car a month ago and couldn’t find the pawn shop again. i’m not gonna waste any time here - the GX85 is a hunk of shit automobile. we’re talkin’ awful gas mileage and a ride about as…