Hello 3.5 readers.
It’s graduation season and for those of you about to matriculate from any kind of school of higher learning, you’ll probably have to sit through a well-thought out speech delivered by a distinguished scholar.
No offense, but F%&K that guy. Pop on your phone and read Uncle Hardass’ graduation speech instead.
Class of 2016, please join me in welcoming your graduation speaker Uncle Hardass, a retired employee of Salt Mines, Inc. and esteemed grumpy old man correspondent for the Bookshelf Battle Blog.
Uncle Hardass, Your Distinguished Graduation Speaker
Hello graduates. OK. Yes. Thank you. Stop the clapping please. Some of us have more important things to do than bake in the hot sun like an asshole on a perfectly good Sunday afternoon, so let’s get down to business already.
First thing’s first. GET A JOB!
Seriously. The Salt Mines are always hiring. Sure, finish up with your silly little ceremony, drink some juice and toss a piece of cake in your cake hole but if you don’t have a job by the time your head hits the pillow tonight then you’re an utter failure and you always will be for the rest of your miserable pathetic lives.
What? Why’s everyone giving me the stink eye? Oh. Right. I’m supposed to be upbeat and encouraging.
Sorry graduates. I meant to say that while you’re failing miserably at life, you’ll do an excellent job of keeping your parents’ couch from spontaneously floating off into outer space because you’ll be on it for most of the day watching Ellen and old reruns of TV shows that were made before your grandparents were even born.
Look, if you want encouraging and upbeat, you should have invited…I don’t know…some guy who had his arms and legs blown off but he still competes in marathons by bouncing up and down on custom built metal springs or something.
If you want to be told how it is, then I’m your man. And frankly kids, between your parents, your teachers, and every other adult in your lives, you’ve all had way too much smoke blown up your asses for your own good.
So it’s time to gather ’round, take a knee, and let your old Uncle Hardass give you the first dose of reality you’ve ever had.
GRADUATES: UNCLE HARDASS, WHAT SHOULD WE DO WITH OUR LIVES?
Graduates, a lot of goody two shoes folk are going to tell you things like “save the whales” or “save the environment” or “end poverty” or some such hullabaloo.
These thoughts are all very nice but alas, I have the misfortune of being the first adult to tell you that if you set out on a mission to save the world at 20, the world will still be the big garbage heap that it is when you’re 30 (except trashier) and you’ll be ten years older with no savings, no job, no employable skills and your parents will probably hate your guts because they had to spend the money they saved to travel the world in their old age on subsidizing your bullshit.
Poor people will always be fucked. Whales and the environment will always be fucked. They were fucked when I was your age and they’ll still be fucked when your kids are your age.
The world is new to you kids so every time you hear about someone or something getting fucked, you automatically assume it’s the first time a fucking has ever gone down.
Trust me kids. It’s all been fucked up before and it will all get fucked up again.
Stop wasting your time on nonsense that you can’t change.
Get a job. Make the money. Clock the grip. Stack the cheddar cheese. Cash money bling dolla dolla bill make you sing y’all.
Get a job doing something important to you if you can’t cure yourself of that do-gooder nonsense. Find some organization that will pay you to clean oil out of whale blowholes or some bullshit.
Whatever you do, and here’s the important thing here, GET A JOB THAT PAYS.
Volunteering isn’t free, kids. For as long as you volunteer your time to dopey causes for free, Mom and Dad are spending the the money they would have spent on visiting Hawaii one time before they get tossed into a pine box on feeding, clothing, and sheltering you.
Bye bye Mommy and Daddy’s retirement dreams. Bye bye. Mommy and Daddy can’t go to the luau because little Billy and little Suzy want to change the world one oily manatee dong at a time.
GRADUATES: UNCLE HARDASS, WHAT SHOULD WE DO WITH OUR MONEY?
Graduates, have you seen the news lately? The world is fucked and it’s only going downhill from here. You think the economy is bad today? There may not even be an economy tomorrow.
Like a miserly hermit, horde every cent you can and never lend anything to anyone. I don’t care if your own mother is short one penny for a life saving operation, no deal! Sure it’s only a penny today but pretty soon the word gets out that you’re a softy and before you know it you won’t be able to walk three feet down the street without every jackass in the neighborhood treating you like you’re their own personal ATM.
Avoid spending your money on useless nonsense like bubblegum, comic books, and Miley Cyrus records.
Bank that scrilla. Invest it wisely and when you hit your first “What is the meaning of my life?” crisis in your 30s, you’ll have the dough you need to travel the world.
Hell, when you have enough money banked up, you might even dabble in that “save the world bullshit” that you’re all so interested in. Don’t worry, kids. The world will still be fucked by then. The fucked-ness won’t be going anywhere. If anything, the longer you wait, the more fucked there will be for all you do-gooder bleeding hearts to remove. Plenty of fucked, no waiting.
Save enough money today and when you’re older, you can spend your time pulling plastic soda can rings out of walrus butt holes or whatever gibberish your professors have been getting paid over $100K to spout into your mushy little brains.
Point? Mom and Dad can’t take care of you forever and the older you get, the less acceptable it will be for you to be broke as hell.
Make the fat green wads today and you’ll be able to polish all the oily otter testicles you want tomorrow, two at a time if need be.
GRADUATES: BUT UNCLE HARDASS, WE WANT TO BE WRITERS, ACTORS, POLITICIANS OR INSERT OTHER PIE IN THE SKY HIGHLY UNLIKELY PROFESSION HERE
Oh Jesus H. Christ. Are you guys sure you graduated? Because that’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.
What? Who is this lady trying to get my attention? No ma’am, I will not stop using profanity in front of the graduates. I have a constitutional right to swear in public. George Washington did not karate chop the King of England’s scrotum so that I could NOT swear in front of young adults, I’ll have you know.
Where was I? Oh right. The terrible, terrible choices you have made about your future professions.
First of all, let me talk to the wannabe writers. You know who else wants to be a writer?
My dumbass nephew, Bookshelf Q. Battler. He just entered year three on his blog and he only has 3.5 readers.
Do you want to end up as a blogger with only 3.5 readers? I don’t think so.
What happened, wannabe writers? Your English teacher slapped a sticker on your report about Hamlet and you’re already polishing your Pulitzer in your mind?
Forget about it. “Oh look at me I’m a writer. I’ll change the world by publishing a record of my thoughts and feelings!”
Sorry. The world was fucked before writers started writing. The world be fucked after writers stop writing.
Where are my wannabe actors? Hello there. Look at you. You’re the kids in the drama club that starred in an off-off-off way off broadway production of Rent.
Look kids, your parents only told you that you did a good job because they didn’t want to hurt your feelings. In actuality, your performance was so awful that by the end of the second act they started praying to catch AIDS just so they wouldn’t have to listen to any more of your horrible singing.
What? What? Why’s everyone booing? You can’t make AIDS jokes still? Jesus, what’s it been, like 35 years?
Fine. Fine. Have it your way, PC police. No AIDS jokes until 2050.
My point is, you wannabe actors might think you are hot shit because you gave a lukewarm performance in your school play, but Hollywood will crush your soul and all your dreams. Just take it from me and assume your soul will be crushed and report to the Salt Mines for a nice, steady minimum wage job instead.
What else do you kids want to be? Politicians? Eh, I suppose that’s somewhat doable but remember, only run for office if you’re doing it for the money. If you’re doing it to change the world, don’t waste your time.
The world is a whore, kids. It enjoys the deep fucking that it has been getting for many, many years. It obviously does because if it didn’t, it wouldn’t be so difficult to stop it.
So remember graduates, only run for office for all the fancy perks and underhanded graft opportunities. If you want to change the world, you’ll have a better shot at it by signing up to wash oily polar bear gonads.
Graduates, I see my time is up, not just by the clock, but by the sight of the security officers headed my way to throw me off the stage and that’s understandable, because no one likes getting a truth bomb dropped on them.
But that’s just what I do. I’m Uncle Hardass and I keeps it real, playa.
If you forget everything else I said, remember:
- Always, always, ALWAYS sell out your dreams in exchange for the most easily obtainable job you can find, then desperately cling to that job for thirty years because believe you me, you’ll never do any better.
- Horde your money as if the world’s financial system is about to be thrown into complete and utter chaos and disarray at any moment because, let’s face it, that’s not that far fetched, is it?
- Assume the worst about everyone and everything and you’ll never be disappointed.
- Odds are that one of you might end up doing something remotely interesting and worthwhile with your lives. The rest of you will be lucky if you end up selling boat insurance at a strip mall.
- Never forget that not a single one of you is special. Had none of you ever been born, there would have been no noticeable effect on the world whatsoever. The world turned before you got here. It will keep turning long after you’re gone.
- When you’re feeling stopped up, there’s nothing like a cool glass of prune juice with a bran muffin chaser to get the old turd factory going again.
Finally, I’d just like to say this whole experience of speaking to you today was a complete disaster. A real misuse of my precious time. Time that I will never get back because I spent it talking to a bunch of losers like yourselves.
Let me drop the mic. OK it’s been dropped. Uncle Hardass out.