At times I pondered the mysteries of this world: Who really shot Kennedy? Is there such a thing as a soul? How did George Lopez get his own TV show?
Years ago I was a knowledge-thirsty youngster armed with a magical melting pot of Boolean combinations and the never-ending promise of Google’s related searches feature. I knew the dangers that lurked in the form of Google Adwords, which captured my glorious imagination with inviting inquiries like “do you love laughter and skipping around in the sunset?” Yes Google, yes I do!
Yet, today I stand before you (figuratively) profoundly more mature and exponentially more complacent.
After all, even after all these years I can’t remotely fathom how George Lopez and his piss-poor attempts at comedy have made it this far. Maybe he caught Ted Turner cheating on his wife with a drag queen in the backseat of a 1952 yellow Volkswagen bus with green and orange polka-dotted curtains? Maybe that drag queen was him? And seriously, even after watching the JFK marathon on the History Channel and seeing the Rock at least 3 times I still can’t tell you who really shot Kennedy.
So – in my infinite Yoda-like wisdom, I came to the obvious conclusion – complacency is the key to life. Never would I ever again wonder about a single thing. Curiosity and inquisitiveness? Fired indefinitely.
Yet lately there’s been a disturbance in “the force” – a question that, no matter how hard I try, I can’t keep from churning and burning in my gigantic mega-brain. The question that will undoubtedly define a generation:
What’s that strange smell coming from my sock drawer?
Seriously, does anyone know? Because I’ve already asked Jeeves, consulted Wikipedia, and used the symptom checker on WebMd (it told me my sock drawer has gingivitis). Your help is greatly appreciated.