Being interesting

The morning started innocently enough, awaking to the requisite, blood-curdling screaming for mummy in a piss filled bed, what is likely food poisoning and no cartoon whatsoever being able to make it all just stop.

To try and stay awake and pretend that I in fact do count to the world, I made the mistake of reading the post. You know the one. The missive from some guy, from some beach, who’s job seems to be doing interesting things and being brilliant. All the while, they’re being paid to travel to Bali, from where he’ll recount his personal travails of still struggling to find time to hike in the mountains. All of this and the nerve to be so damn smug about it.

I hereby declare that anything written, whether for the Internet or print has to be prefaced clearly with a statement about how the author of said article having children or not. In fact, there should be a filter for all writing, across the entirety of the Internet, that I can filter by this.