[If you haven’t read part 1 of good riddance I highly recommend you do so first.]
[If you have read part 1, I assure you that this post is much shorter.]
I would like to share with you this good riddance chaser, a refreshing bit of honest advertising.
“Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road . . .”
Thus beginneth “Good Riddance,” perhaps the most poignant poetry penned by the great Billie Joe Armstrong in the early post-Dookie period. Official statistics are difficult to come by, but it is estimated that if you graduated from high school between 1998 and 2001, there is a 73.67% chance that THIS was your class song. If you throw out the 1999 grads (who seemed rather fond of Prince’s “1999”), that number swells to 98.97%. A recent study found that GED candidates from the same time period were similarly partial to the tune: nearly 80% would have chosen the song (or its equivalent) as their class song if they had been allowed a class song. It was even determined that a majority of students who dropped out of high school between 1998 and 2001 can sing along with the chorus if you get them started . . .
“It’s something unpredictable, but in the end it’s right. I hope you had the time of your life.”
I’m 27, single, and on facebook. That much you know. What you may not know: I am also boss of a global empire of organised crime. A level 270 insomniac, I have an hourly income of nearly $2 billion. That works out to a cool $17.5 quadrillion in annual income–and that’s tax-free. I guess I do have to pay the bank 10% every time I make a deposit. But I’m pretty sure my fellow Americans in the $17.5 quadrillion tax bracket pay a slightly higher rate.
[If you haven’t read part 1 of beyond cavemen I highly recommend you do so first.]
Today I received another update on insurance legislation and tits effect on me, a 27 year old male.
When it comes to car insurance ads, I have to hand it to the advertising people at Geico. I can repeat their catch-phrase from memory (“Fifteen minutes could save you fifteen percent or more on car insurance”). If you show me a talking gecko, a moron made up like a caveman, or a stack of money with googley-eyes, I think of Geico. I think the gecko is kind of cute. I think the cavemen are stupid beyond all belief. And I’m irritated by the creepy, unwavering stare of “the money [I] could be saving with Geico.” It’s like a Sesame Street version of the Eye of Sauron, whose lidless, fiery gaze scoured the face of Middle Earth. The black tower of Barad-dûr was a bit more sinister than Geico’s stack of $5 bills; but, to be fair, Peter Jackson had a bigger budget. I think.