Like Jeffrey Lebowski, we're all looking for something to tie the room together. Keep in mind that I'm being metaphorical here, but imagine that two muscular men in tank tops have broken into your apartment, wrecked your stuff, cracked the tile in your bathroom with a bowling ball, and pissed on your rug.
They peed on your fucking rug, Dude.
So here you are, again metaphorically, in the position of so many young Americans. On the one hand, you could go to the other Jeff Lebowski, the millionaire, for help. Or you could try Maude Lebowski. Or Jackie Treehorn. Or the marmot happy Nihilists who want to cut off your johnson. The point is, you're fucked unless you rely on Walter and Donny. (Forget about the cash machine and Bunny's offer. You don't want your shit to fall off. Hint: by shit, I mean genitalia)
So maybe you just graduated from college into a shitty economy? They peed on your rug. Maybe you're stuck in a job you hate? They peed on your rug. Maybe you married the wrong guy or gal but your devout religiosity won't let you escape? You peed on your own rug, bro. (Go ask a priest why God killed, outright blasted, so many people in the OT- this is for another post)
But the point is that you should go find your Walter and Donny. The latter is probably throwing rocks tonight, and he wont be around forever, weak heart and all. I bet your friends are just as dysfunctional as those two. Find 'em. Hang out with 'em. Our amigos are the best things we've got going.
The first rule of living is the same as the first rule of flying. Love. (Ask Joss Whedon about that one and you'll simultaneously see that I'm not sappy and watch an excellent film that shouldn't be)
To end my nonsensical post, I'll quote Jayne Cobb:
"Yeah. Tell us where the stuff's at so I can shoot you."
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