This is Chelsea Laine Wells reading HOBBIES INCLUDE #5, the very Spesh New Year’s Edish, by Brian Alan Ellis
—sexually-identifying as maybe the only sad person in this world who thinks “Sexual Healing” is the least sexy song of all time.
—refusing the advice of others because being talked out of making poor, self-destructive decisions is so not chill.
—singing along to Madonna’s “Express Yourself” but changing the word “express” to “depress.”
—maintaining an Instagram account where parents of childless authors are pictured lovingly cradling blanket-wrapped copies of their kids’ newly published books in a hospital setting.
—angrily dropkicking garbage cans at work.
—getting drunk off Peppermint Schnapps and then beating someone repeatedly using cat furniture before jumping out of a window.
—saying “Hey, look on the bright side…” while thinking: Darkness/Imprisoning me/All that I see/Absolute horror!
—existing solely inside something called a “harshed buzz zone.”
—frantically searching for my car keys before realizing that I’m actually just a loser who doesn’t even own a car.
—waiting for the stoned Jamaican delivery guy to call saying he’s lost even though he delivers Chinese food to my apartment, like, a lot.
—binge-watching random YouTube videos of Beavis and Butthead binge-watching random music videos while asking myself, “Well… how did I get here?”
—getting “Mac-n-Cheese” tattooed in Old English lettering on my lower back with the Great Value™ logo placed directly above it so you know I’m lit as fuck.
—launching a Kickstarter campaign to help fund a product called Struggies™, which is like a Snuggie® but basically just a torn blanket from childhood that crazy depressed adults can cry into.
—suffering fits of psychic terror tempered occasionally by general malaise.
—angrily throwing burnt chicken against the wall while at work.
—getting upset when others show enthusiasm over dumb-ass shit, mostly because they’re capable of getting excited about something whereas I’m just miserably dead inside.
—reviewing a magazine’s masthead while urgently whispering to myself, “Must identify the leader of this operation and take them down.”
—gauging the level of my own full-of-shittedness by the amount of times I use the word “absolutely” in a conversation.
—asking people to endorse me on LinkedIn for being skilled at “narcissistic crying while spiritually drowning in the muck of life.”
—singing alone to the song that goes “takin’ care of business… every day” but changing the word “business” to “abyssness.”
—spending my entire life in search of nonexistent selfies where the fro I’ve always wanted but could never grow looks dope.
—being crippled by random thoughts of one day coming home to find my cat inexplicably murdered.
—going to a library/book store and reading the first paragraph of a popular novel, saying “Oh fuck you” to it, and then putting it back on the shelf.
—saying “We make an awesome team!” while thinking: Oh God don’t look at me!
—self-identifying as the soul of a dead clown.
—being whatever about everything I used to enjoy/love and not having the energy/desire to get into any new shit.
—hoping that when I die, instead of my life, every Nicolas Cage meme ever created flashes before my eyes.