“I’d rather have a hot dog than caviar.”

– Juan Pablo Montoya

Whenever I tell people that I want to be a writer I always have to pretend like I want to write something profound and deep.

I don’t.

I want to be the guy who makes those eBooks that are always advertised on the sidebars of porn sites. Books with titles like 10 tips to get a bigger wiener.

I want to be one of those authors because their books sell.

My favorite author is Stefan Zweig, a guy most modern Americans have probably never heard of. If you handed the average man a copy of The Royal Game they’d never read it. Yet that same guy would probably devour a shoddy PDF book titled something like How to bang waitresses.

The reason that I mention this is because yesterday I didn’t have to go to work. Since there’s nothing fun to do on a Tuesday anyway, I decided to write my very own trashy eBook. I wrote the whole thing in six solid hours, put a silly pen name on it, sent off for a cover, and set up a website. I have a sinking suspicion that my endeavor will pay for itself in no time.

Whether you’d like to admit it or not trash is what sells. The History Channel has devolved into alien conspiracies and rednecks because actually learning something wouldn’t be “fun.”

On this site I write posts about making money, learning to program, and meditation; yet all my search hits derive from items such as “rape” and “used panties.”

The Internet, one of humanities all time greatest achievements, has potential to be used for limitless purposes. All it has is porn and cat pictures. “Lesbian Latinas 7” and “Erwin The Singing Cat” are why we don’t have a cure for cancer or solution to world hunger. All our great minds were too preoccupied with making sure that some yokels in Montana could discreetly watch strangers have sex.

I’m sure it sounds like I’m being bitter and misanthropic, but I’m not. People are people, they’ve been the same way forever. You might as well profit off them. Tim Ferriss became a best selling author by appealing to the average person’s natural laziness. Tucker Max became a household name by catering to America’s love of sex and drinking. Naked Came the Stranger was a literary hoax meant to showcase how lowbrow our culture is… and it became a bestseller.

If anything, there’s a great lesson to be learned from all this: write trash, it will make you rich.

“Have a little fun. Soon enough you’ll be dead and burning in Hell with the rest of your family.”

– George Carlin

I used to punish myself if I couldn’t meet every goal I had set. If I didn’t read enough or make enough money online, I’d deny myself the privilege of going out on a Friday night or doing something fun.

This system worked well for awhile, then it imploded. Instead of working rationally towards my objective I’d fear failure and procrastinate.

I’ve adopted a new work ethic now, one where I do the best I can and see what happens. Unsurprisingly it’s been a hundred times more effective.

If, for reasons out of my own control, I didn’t reach a certain non-essential goal; I don’t beat myself up over it. When Friday night rolls around I’ll be out having fun, not sitting at home desperately trying to reach some quota.

I think this fear of inadequacy is rather common amongst guys who get into lifestyle development and self improvement. They see other people and start comparing themselves to them.

I might not be on the same level as a Colin Wright, but that doesn’t mean I need to punish myself because of it.

However, just because I’m not overworking myself doesn’t mean that I’m being a lazy slug. I still work hard towards my goals, but I have fun doing so. If anything, having the time of my life and enjoying my youth has actually made me more productive. I tackle my “to-do” lists with new zeal and enthusiasm, adding to them and pushing further.

Being alive is the longest activity I’ll ever engage in, there’s no reason for me not to enjoy it.

“Forever young, I want to be forever young.”

– Alphaville

It was a bright summer day. Birds were chirping, children were playing in the street, and I was thinking about the end of the world. Or, more specifically, the end of a world.

I was contemplating how much a man losses as he ages.

My current position in life is pretty awesome. I can bulk up in no time if I take weightlifting seriously. Going to party means I’ll be surrounded by attractive girls in their late teens and early twenties. I don’t have a wife or kids, so all my money is my own. Likewise, none of my friends are married so they’re always free to hang out. I can do anything I want whenever I want.

Unfortunately that will change. It will eventually get harder for me to put on muscle. I’ll become too old to attend college parties. Although I never intend on getting married and having a family, most of my friends do. As such, we’ll eventually drift apart as they “man up” and spend their time doing yard work.

While thinking about aging and decline, I started to think more about what it actually means to be a man. I wish I could write about some kind of brilliant observation that I had, but I can’t. During the entire time that I contemplated the true nature of manhood, my ideas and opinions continued to shift. I’d think up fifteen reasons why a guy should dedicate his life to personal ambitions, only to construct an equally valid argument against it.

After several hours of critical thinking, I eventually settled on a basic foundation upon which I consider all masculinity is based: the desire to have done something.

Whether it means raising a family or traveling the world and building a personal empire, all men want to look back from their deathbeds and believe that they’ve made an impact in their world.