Obviously, you are not reading this. You have more important things to do, like licking the doorknob or applying hand sanitizer on your face. I don’t intend at all to disturb your living-life-on-the-edge schedule, but, then, you are our only hope. Not hope in the I-will-live-my-life-through-you (it’s called vicarious, but it will be good for us both if we skip on words and their meanings and whether or not they are naughty words etc., for the rest of our time here); so yeah, where were we, yeah not that hope your parents have for you, but a more basic hope: we need help!
Let me explain.
I don’t know if you noticed—adults have made the transition into full-time dickheads. We thought the pandemic would bring us closer and shit like that, but, by God, it’s made us more awkward than you can imagine. And you know a thing or two about awkward—it is practically your dominion, but your monopoly over it really pissed off a code-snorting cherubic algorithm called Mark Zuckerberg. Pardon me for taking the Lord’s name in vain. Anyway, all of that’s quite irrelevant—I am tempted to say, like you—but now that one of your parents really wanted you (it’s mum) and the other didn’t (dad, definitely), you may as well be of help and make one of them proud (you know who). It’s called daddy issues. No time for questions at this point.
Which brings me to the point: You are the masters of questions. You make philosophers look like complete morons. You also make morons look like philosophers, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. Your questions may be the salvation we need in this soporific seam of software and reality we insist on calling existence.
These questions are unlike your usual questions, which start with the color of the sky and somehow end up with the anatomy of the genitalia. These are not questions of harassing curiosity. They are questions of survival, of breathability. Questions to ask in order to check if the patient, the adult in front of you, is showing signs of life. There’s your free medical degree.
So Boyos and Missies, it’s time. Given your hectic schedule, I have put together the FAQs myself. The questions are all yours for asking. Break a leg!
Get to know your parents. Here’s an icebreaker:
“Are daddy and you together for my sake?”
Now, to the people on your dad’s/mum’s side—you will find out one side’s always more brain-damaged than the other:
“Could you please promise me you will not produce any more children?”
One when all the families get together:
“Are you all staring into your phone because it’d be too impolite to play with your private parts?”
Let’s be nice to the inquisitive guests:
“Do you spot any irony at all in asking me “what I want to be?” or is this what people asked you when you were a child and you have been in a coma ever since?
When mum says, say Thank You to the adult who brought you a gift:
“Could you, um, the next time, please find out my age, gender and t-shirt size before you get me a gift in the hope my thank you can fill your emptiness? Thank you for the sequin dress.”
The unequivocal question that works on all adults:
“When was the last time you laughed?”
For when mum brings you on one of her Zoom calls because you are more suicidal than usual that day:
“Are you all in this job because you want to spend less time around your children or did you have children so you can spend less time on the job?”
And, finally, one for your fellow children:
“Are you pissed off because it’s the only way you know to get everyone’s attention because you have no real problems and/or are you being raised by woke parents?”