Sexistentialism
What’s the point? Why are we here? How the hell do they make edible underwear, anyway? These are the weighty sorts of questions that keep us up late into the night.
You’ve heard of existentialism, right? You know, cool post-war cats that believed that individuals were ultimately responsible for giving their own lives meaning and that life should be lived passionately and sincerely, in spite of distractions like despair, absurdity, boredom or reality TV.
Just the other day, I was thinking that all of the regular isms had run their course. Communism petered out with a flaccid poof. Capitalism blew up in a derivative laden orgy. We definitely need another ism to define the next 100 years.
Why not sexistentialism? A philosophy that posits the meaning of life lies in the repeated and creative use of procreative activities. We can all wear black (leather), sit around in coffee shops and talk about sex. What do you think?
Have you tasted ennui flavored ice cream?
