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Everything is going to be OK. I promise. Don't freak out. I wouldn't lie to you. Trust me.

Everything is going to be OK, even though it's not and we all die.

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That is the truth.

Don't be afraid, but that's stupid. Be terrified. Just don't be afraid about things you should not be afraid of, like what assholes think about you. Those dicks are such dicks. While you're on this planet, I really recommend just being the weirdest, loudest, most honest you you can be.

You might as well just love sloppy, and dress crazy, and say outrageous things that don't hurt people's feelings because if you hurt people's feelings willy-nilly then you are the asshole I just told you to not fear.

Look, be fabulous and fearless all you want. I'm just suggesting you be, oh, 80 percent fabulous.

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Fearless people tend to not fear things like murder.

Everything is going to be OK, though. I know it feels like the four horsemen of the apocalypse are doing doughnuts on the face of humanity.

Things are scary, but they could be worse. Actually, they're going to get worse. If the Ebola doesn't get you, the decapitations will. You will fall on the tracks and a train will eat you.

Lightning will make you dance. Bullets will install a skylight in your skull.

Heart disease. Hurricanes. Hezbollah.

You might even die in your sleep at 100 years old. Although, in my experience, when you read about how someone died surrounded by loved ones what's really happening is that someone died while their loved ones were outside chain smoking.

It's not like I'm not optimistic. The future holds wonders and miracles for people who will probably not be born for hundreds of years. Man, it would be great to be a brain suspended inside a giant biomechanical spider. I could probably visit Mars Vegas.

But right now, at this moment, things are OK. Check in tomorrow for an update. Tomorrow, everything might be mega-fucked-up.

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This is optimism.

I told you I wouldn't lie to you. Nope. It doesn't matter if the glass is half full or half empty if it's a glass of cold piss.


Here's some more truth: I think you're doing the best you can do, and your best is pretty great. Don't give up. Failure is just success with morning breath and bed head.

The most exciting stories are the ones with heroes who don't think they can go on, but they do.

Sometimes they have friends. I think there's a law that you can't quest without three or four trusted companions. I think one of them has to be an archer, and one of them has to be a demolitions expert. Find your Avengers. Conquer fears together. Fight dragons. Make art. Ugh. Make as much art as possible -- theater, painting, children, whatever. Anyway, these people are your family.

Now, what I'm about to write might be hard to deal with, but most people are jerks. So I'd like to make a few points.

Never listen to anyone who writes essays on the Internet, except for me.

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I'm just trying to help.

If you stop listening to me, I will have to respect that you take good advice well.

Never listen to anyone who talks about politics too much. People who talk about politics want to be in charge of the whole enchilada. That is the problem with everything. There is enough enchilada to go around.

Never listen to people who say "no worries," because, yes worries. All the worries. AIDS. ISIS. IRS. What the fuck do you mean "no worries"? Hey, instead of smiling a serial killer clown smile and saying "no worries," try just producing a guttural groan from the wet basement of your soul instead. This is the most honest thing anyone can say about life. Let this raw human sound bubble up like methane gas escaping a lake of tar.

Are we OK?


Never listen to anyone who doles out "tough love," because there is no such thing as "tough love." Love isn't tough. Love is indestructible. Love is made out of adamantium and star lava. Since love cannot be destroyed, love is gentle. Love is nice.

So eat a space monster dick with your "tough love" bullshit.

Never listen to anyone who toasts their bagel.

Now put your hand on the computer screen.

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Just one, don't be weird.

I am putting my hand on my computer screen. Can you feel my energy?

Of course you can't. Christmas is a nice thought, too, though. That doesn't mean I'm not there, with you, wherever you are, like a blue Jedi ghost. Everything is going to be OK. There will be suffering. There will also be these moments when everything works out, and your mom is happy, and you have money in the bank, and you're doing exactly what you want to be doing, even if it is for a moment. Then there will probably be more suffering. But remember that delicious slice of thank you life sandwiched between that old ouch and the current one?

You might get sick. You might divorce. Your dream might not come true. But everything will be OK because, and I'm NOT hitting on you, but you're fucking good-looking when you're struggling, fighting, enduring.

Like, your soul is beautiful. The pain will pass. One way or another.

Time is all about the timing.

If you think about the things that matter you won't obsess over things that flatter you. Imagine that days and months were meatballs. Now imagine a giant bowl of meatballs.

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You probably already were.

Those are your meatballs! Eat them up. Yum. When you're out of meatballs, you will cease to exist.

Slow down eating those meatballs, buddy! Take tiny bites. Enjoy. Savor. Take a break and tell a joke.

Everything is going to be OK. I was once pistol-whipped by a mugger. Another time I literally choked on snot as I wrote my sister's obituary. Years ago when I was unemployed my credit card was declined at McDonald's. Do you know how many friends don't talk to me because I sobered up?

But I'm OK. I wasn't, but I am. Are you not OK? I'm sorry. But you'll be OK again. I swear. Life is short. Seriously. One day your butt looks good in whatever pair of jeans you put on and the next day you're coffin filling.

It happens like that.

Eat your meatballs wisely.

Unfortunately, if everyone used their precious time goofing off, laughing, and closing their eyes and inhaling deeply instead of working and producing, then our civilization would collapse.

It would be a nice bonfire until the cannibal biker gangs showed up.

So go to work and pay your bills. If you can afford a nice sofa, by all means, buy a nice sofa. But, also, carpe diem. That is Latin for cup life's hairy balls because life likes that.

Live each day as if it was your last, screaming and crying and begging because holy shit it's your last day. On second thought, live each day as if it was your second to last. Yes, that's better. Have a nice meal, hug your family and maybe a friend, make some art. Leave the screaming and crying and begging until the next day.

Everything is going to be OK. Never lose hope. Always hope. Hope doesn't mean things will actually turn out for the best. That's ridiculous. Hope is the only lie that's more important than all of the truths put together. You can never let it die. Regret is the carnivorous lizard-insect that grows inside hope's carcass.

I've got your back, but do not fall backwards. I repeat: do not fall backwards. I will not be there to catch you. I've got your back, but only in the abstract.

Everything is going to be OK, because when the Grim Reaper shows up, you're going to beat him with his own thigh bone. Ha, ha, look at that skeleton man hopping around on one foot!

You'll break his scythe over your knee and shove it up his total lack of ass.

You'll slow-motion roundhouse kick his jaw off.

Go you! You're winning!

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Then he'll suck your life away and you'll be dead.

A recent scientific study by scientists showed that human consciousness can exist for up to three minutes after the heart has stopped beating and brain function has ceased.

Science is so goth.

Three whole minutes. Whisper the names of everyone who you love. Keep repeating that list for three minutes. What? You only love your dog? Because dogs are fur angels? Then whisper "Fonzi" over and over and over for three minutes.

Say their names. Smile. Say their names again. Then gravity will surrender its hold and you'll fall up into lightless sky.

The good news is you still have time to love whoever you want. So use that meatball wisely.

Everything is going to be OK.

John DeVore is a writer and editor who lives in New York City. He is happy to be back on Cracked. Follow him on Twitter: @JohnDeVore

For more from John, check out Why America Is Still Awesome and I Blame England for Everything (A Defense of America).

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