“This shit show of a life we are living in, doesn’t it make you think someone is totally calling the shots from somewhere else? Like some last season alien video game with enough outrageous drama in it to think it was written by monkeys?“ GunRoswell
My life in seasons of a show
Ages zero through ten were the prequel, simply to setup the show, the preface, the prologue if you will, just a trial run to see if anyone was interested in watching it at all.
Hitting the teens and turning twenty something, the rebel area and the adulthood, when running amok totally confused. So real for sure no writer could me that shit up?
Thirty, forty yeah, not feeling sporty but perhaps trying something on for a size, a life? The thing everyone is talking about. The thing you’re supposed to be living. The good years? Well, I fear the writer making my stuff up, fell asleep at the keyboard, snoozing through that time as did I.
Fifty, sixty, well, what can I say? Life is what it is the changes happening, something crappening, and so moving along in a pace, nothing really feeling the same even if deep down inside the kid from ten still exists.
Seventy, eighty, yeah old lady, or something else, whatever it feels like, hitting the big times? Golf anyone? Hey writer! Where the hell did you come up with these scenarios anyway? It’s all just a big cliche!
Ninety, perhaps a hundred? Well, congrats! This is the end goal for some poor souls, and hey, if you have reached this level in the game you can only yourself for it blame!
And so, the aliens playing this boring and stupid game finally realise they should go outside and perhaps develop something a little less of a boring screenplay.