Matt Forney
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“Don’t You Even Have a Life?”

“Man, I wish I had all the free time you do.”

“Man, I wish I had rich parents like you do.”

“Man, I wish I was as lucky as you.”

A lot of people wonder how I do it. I publish blog posts here three to five days a week. I’ve published three books and am working on two more at the same time. I run a minor online empire of which is only the tip of the iceberg. I constantly post links to my Twitter and Facebook pages that my readers might find interesting. And this is all on top of my day job, hanging out with my real-life friends, lifting, reading books and everything else.

What’s the secret to being an accomplished superman?

That’s what Boobus Americanus thinks when he sees someone like me: that I’ve got some special quality that he can’t obtain on his own. That’s if he likes me. If he’s looking for an excuse to hate me, he’ll claim I don’t have a “life.”

Ah, “lives.” So enviable, and yet the people who brag most about having them are the ones least deserving of them.

Boobus Americanus is such an interesting guy, because he has a “life.” He doesn’t spend his nights doing something lame like working on a small business or writing a book. He’s out there setting the town on fire!

Boobus Americanus makes $35,000 a year and lives in a flat that he shares with three other guys. He has $34.04 in his savings account, which will be gone when he and his buddies order bottle service at the club on Saturday night. Their Ed Hardy duds and free-flowing booze will entice some girls to talk to them, but aside from Joey getting a drunken makeout after last call, none of them will get any.

The morning after, Boobus will awaken on the floor of his filthy living room, with a brain-splitting headache. He’s not fazed. That’s how all his Sundays have gone for the past five years.

Boobus Americanus is proud of the fact that he hasn’t picked up a book since college. When asked about it, he always says he’s “too busy” to read. Unaware that bookworms get the same amount of time in a day that he does, he’s logged hundreds of hours in wasting terrorists in the latest Call of Duty game. You know he’s a badass because he’s gotten all the achievements. Way to go, Boobus!

Good thing he’s beaten this game, because the sequel’s coming out in a couple of months.

Boobus Americanus doesn’t vacation abroad because he “can’t afford it.” Despite this, he always has enough money to get the latest carbon-copy FPS for his PS3, or to go see the latest action flick at the Cineplex, or pay his monthly digital cable bill. Plus, his job only gives him a week of vacation time a year, and his boss has a private investigator on retainer to make sure that he doesn’t use his sick days to go gambling down in Atlantic City.

Boobus has gone abroad once: to Italy with a couple of friends. He didn’t bother learning any Italian before he left, because he’s always had a hard time with foreign languages, going back to the bad old days of high school Spanish. He envies polyglots with their magical ability to converse in multiple tongues without any work.

“Man, it must be nice to be smart and stuff.”

And naturally, Boobus Americanus doesn’t take care of himself. When asked about why he doesn’t lift, he says it’s because he doesn’t have the time. That, and he claims to have “poor” genetics, so trying to get jacked would be a waste of time. When asked why he always eats out, he says it’s because he doesn’t know how to cook anything good.

He never, ever connects the dots.

In ten years, Boobus will be married and live in a three bedroom house in the suburbs. Despite getting a raise to $40,000 and having a hard-working, same-aged, “curvy” wife with a full-time job, he will still be underwater on his mortgage. He will have three kids, two ulcers and one heart attack underneath his (Expand-o-Waist) belt. His hobbies will include watching re-runs of Pawn Stars and playing more video games. His scant vacation time will be spent going to some shithole like Virginia Beach every year.

In ten years, I’m likely to be independently wealthy, doing what I please, not beholden to a boss or a bitch wife or a debt collector. And when that happens, Boobus Americanus will turn his prematurely wrinkled, sagging, triple-chinned face to me and say:

“Man, I wish I had all the free time you do.”

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