Downey's "Classics" Presents: The Greatest Philosophy One Can Abide By

Apparently, the best way for a writer to make a name for himself today is to do various writing jobs that doubles as an advertisement for his blog until he is ready to write a novel, which pays more than a job writing for a magazine. Sure, the writer could just skip a step and write the novel right away, but that shit is difficult, and without something resembling a cultivated audience, it would arrive in bookstores to general apathy. And that's even if it makes it into stores.

So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is something kah-razy he wrote three years ago in the heat of the moment. Enjoy.

"The Greatest Philosophy One Can Abide By"
by John Downey

I've thrown out a challenge to a biotch that is steppin' on my turf. It's one thing to beat the shit out of me. It's happened before, and with my big mouth, it'll probably happen again--maybe even by the time you read this. I've also had to deal with people who are better than me in every way possible. But this shit is fucking PERSONAL. But first...a family portrait.

Most of my closest (well, closer) friends know about my father's exploits. There's a very good reason why I talk a lot about the dude. In his 50 years, he managed to pack in a lot. He ran a gang, grew (and smoked) pot, worked hard at everything he tried to, and (if all of his stories are to be believed) was a consummate ladies man. Why wouldn't I talk about a dude like that?

There's another reason why I usually talk about my dad, though, and that's because the rest of my biological family is fucking boring. My aunt's family is a perfect example of this. She's a school teacher who takes the family to church every Sunday. The kids say their prayers at all of the appropriate times. Swearing is forbidden. Despite having 5 kids, they only recently got a Gamecube, in an era in which hand-eye coordination is almost as prided as actual smarts. If the Downey/Moores are the Simpsons, then the Harveys are the Flanders.

Lil' Katherine Harvey has always stood out from the bunch, at least in my eyes. She's the first one to do any sort of crazy jump or stunt. (She does better flips than me on a trampoline, and I'm fucking crazy with that shit. Think about THAT.) She has also stood out in pretty much every sport she's ever done. Thing is, though, she's not sure which sport she wants to specialize in. She's tried a whole bunch of different things, from soccer to cross-country.

Uh oh.

Gimmick infringement.

I'M the runner in the family.

I'M the fastest motherfucker on two feet.

I've got so many track shit with the word 'Varsity' on it, my brother steals some of it just so that he can look good. (It works out, though, since he hasn't seen his Thursday shirt in 7 years, so I ain't mad.)

And I'm going to visit the Harvey residence over Christmas break.

At first, I was afraid that the spunky second-born was going to challenge me to a race. Then I realized, "Downey, what the fuck do you have to be afraid of? You can't just pussyfoot around this kind of an issue! Are you afraid of that bible-thumping little hoochie?! Hell no! That's not how we do it down in Delaware! MAN UP!"

So, when I head on down to Penn in 3 weeks, Downey ain't gonna be Downey. Hells no. He will be one running machine. Hell, he'l be able to keep pace with a Durkin brother for TWO laps before collapsing in a heap, gasping for air. Meanwhile, Katherine's gonna be all like, "Kind lord, please give me the strength to make my dear family proud in the course of this race." And I'ma be all like, "BITCH, I SHOOT KITTENS! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING PRAYING TO GOD! I AM GOD!"

S'right. Man up. It's not just a saying. It's a way of life. If your face is on fire, man up with some coldass water. If some girl dumps you, man up and push her in front of a bus. If some weird-looking little man looks at you for a millisecond too long, man up and knock his fucking teeth in. There's no time for critical thought here. Life'll pass you by. As long as you don't get hurt, who the fuck cares?*

Feel free to leave premature congratulations in the comments box. Or "suck a fuck"s. S'all good.

*Warning: "Man up" is not for everyone. If you do not regularly exercise, or are currently on an inhaler, consider finding a compromise to conflicts. Women who are pregnant or may become pregnant who use "man up" may suffer from a miscarriage and should consult their doctor before participating in any rumbles. Men under 150 pounds may subscribe to "man up", but only after purchasing an instrument that can draw blood, such as a knife, chair, cheese grinder, or fork. "Man up" has not been approved by the pussyfuckers at the FuckDatAss, but who gives a fuck? I don't. MAN UP!