20 years old: The Age of Suck

There is a common feeling shared among 20-somethings struggling with their burgeoning adulthood. We are all weighed down by the crippling fear of our impending phantom futures (see what i did there?) and we are also lifted up by the belief that we are actually just shining stars being stifled by society’s mediocre standards.

MY GENIUS WILL BE UNEARTHED IN DUE TIME!

 

In reality you’re 20 years old, you know absolutely nothing, are unable to see beyond your limited range of experiences, and it doesn’t matter what you are capable of if you can’t suck dick.

 

That’s the main thing we can’t grasp. The fellatio factor. None of us have ever really had to compromise and still believe that our integrity can be protected as we reap financial and intellectual rewards. But really, everybody needs to suck dick at some point. You may state that you are above slurping your way to the top but you have not examined all of the hypotheticals.

 

Imagine you are stuck in a barren plain of existence; a purgatory of sorts. The uncertainty of this state of being is almost unbearable. Then you come across two doors. One door is labeled “self-respect”. You peak through the peep-hole and see yourself walking along with dignity. You have no responsibilities to anyone but yourself and spit at the idea of maturity as you carry your abstract paintings along with you and meander.

 

You are walking, walking, walking, hunching, hunching, panting, gasping, choking, then yelping for air, for food, for basic necessities. You collapse on the ground, dignity intact, painting in hand.

Hermit Crab in Motion with Lesbian Tendencies

Then you turn to the other door. This door is labelled “compromise” and has a dick-shaped doorknob that only moves when covered in saliva. You gaze through the peep-hole with a curious eye and witness yourself enjoying your favorite meal while half-smiling with each bite. You wear expensive clothing, sport a stylish haircut, and your shoes are not from pay-less for once. You are well taken care of.

 

BUT

 

There is something dead behind your eyes. A twinkle that was there before but gone now. There are no dreams to ruminate over; no idyllic haven to lustfully surf towards. Beyond this door, compromise has killed the hope that once drove your very essence. There is only objective reality devoid of romance.

 

That’s where we are. A collegiate pasture of endless opportunities for failure or success. We teeter on the fence of our youth and our looming responsibility, stupid blind to the decisions we must make and dreading every single cock-sucking one of them.

 

And, oh, yes, the cock-sucking.

 

We suck dick without even thinking that we’re doing it. Internship is actually latin for “wipe your chin and say thank you”. People suddenly become opportunities for self-propulsion instead of just fellow citizens and co-stars of “Shit: The Movie” (we once starred alongside each other but now we each clamor for the lead role).

 

It’s not our fault. We’re lost and Polaris doesn’t guide us because he’s an over-bearing douche-diorama who wants us to fight each other for a loaf of bread as he laughs in his mansion.

(in that metaphor, “Polaris: The North Star”, acts as a symbol for american society’s consumer-driven ethics)


In that purgatory plain where we stand between the doors of compromise and self-respect, I think I would prefer to stay in the hallway. It’s uncertainty is scary, yes, but there is nothing as exciting or frightening or funny.

20 is an interesting age. I’ll miss it when it’s gone.

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