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The latest report is in and it strongly confirms what the entire nation has feared: that you personally are a lazy piece of shit. It's nearly June and you've accomplished nothing this year, gone nowhere and achieved little beyond drinking yourself to sleep while watching old episodes of Frasier. The nation is utterly disappointed in you.

You spent all of January meticulously planning a workout regimen you never used. February was spent plotting against your significant other to protect the prime placement of your He-Man collectibles in the den. March was five degrees chillier than normal so you completely stopped functioning that month. April and May were spent worrying about how you've done nothing this year. At least you know.

 Each day you coast through work, get super high before dinner and then spend the rest of the evening watching movie trailers on YouTube while daydreaming that you made them and are revealing them at a special screening for all the people you hate. This sad routine allows you to pay your rent, but does not constitute any actual accomplishments.

 An actual accomplishment would have been leaving the house and buying a loaf of bread, doing a single load of goddamn laundry, or writing a novel that doesn’t have a diarrhea joke in it. Perhaps next month. Maybe the moonlight will hit you just right as Gemini is in retrograde or some such fascism. The fact is it will soon be June and you’ll have nothing to show for it. Nothing! The report says you’re a sack of monkey shit!

 You could have bought a robot vacuum. That could have been a cool thing you did. You could have volunteered at a charity and pretended you don’t hate people. You could have used your buttocks as a base for firing a bottle rocket, watched the video of it go viral and completely recovered from the injuries already. That would have given you a nice story to tell so your parents will stop falling asleep when you call them.

 You’ll do something next month, though. You’re going to make a big plan of it. Notes will be scribbled on napkins. A crude drawing of some difficult bullshit you’re never going to do will be drawn. Perhaps a pie chart will be created to make your project appear upscale. Then Super Mario Odyssey will come out and you’ll become its bitch for three straight months. You’ll be very happy, but you’ll also be a huge failure.

 Maybe 2018 will be more your year. You can take the rest of 2017 off to center yourself before you really start kicking extra tall ass. This will give you that much-needed break you’ve already been taking for the past five months, you human shart. You’ve been really tired lately, so you deserve it. You should probably buy yourself some ice cream to celebrate, like the scentless, hardened dog turd that you are.

 Once you start working in 2018, federal labor laws will require you to take two 15-minute breaks and a lunch each day. It would probably be best to take all your breaks and lunches for the entire year right at the start so you won’t get interrupted when the magic really starts flowing. Just take it easy and don’t strain yourself, you thick-faced goon.

 The report says time is running out. You’re getting super duper old every second of every day, and your novel about vampire supermodels who can only be made human again by ripping off their clothing in broad daylight isn’t going to write itself.

 Neither is your masterpiece movie script that would require 17 separate licensed properties to work together and also agree to have their mascots sexually humiliated. You’re right, though. If Avatar made $2.7 billion with characters who had sex with their horses, then yours should be thrice easy to pull off. Thrice!

 Then again, perhaps you should wait and see if these scripts write themselves. Our universe could conceivably host endless realities and timelines. You’d feel pretty stupid if you went to all that trouble only to find that a better version of yourself accidentally dropped a finished script through a wormhole onto your couch. Perhaps it would be wise to wait a year, just in case.

 Or maybe you could just fucking do something. Y’know, so you’re not in this same bar in six months from now, paging through a weekly newspaper for liquor coupons. Yeah, I said it. We all know what you’re here for. Oh right, you read the articles. Sure you do. You read for fun all the time. Big time reader, that’s you. Read-a-deed-deed.

 I don’t know what else to tell you. The report has been released. The details are indisputable. You’re a lazy sack of farts who needs to subcontract your wanking hand into taking care of some business. If not, then eat an entire field of dicks.