Knocking You Down to Build You Up

The future is mine. Get your own. Not even a deity can revoke this license. Moments of fate are merely luck in bad disguises. I have abandoned the ‘Fate Program‘ – it had a fatal error in its coding. Some slacker forgot to install the ‘or‘ factor.

Here are some of the new rules.

Anybody seen using time to their own advantage will be applauded for no more than five minutes.
Anybody caught wasting time will be sent to a gaol/jail term of no less than 45 years of primary school teaching.
Those waiting for their future to kick-in will be ground into blood and bone and spread evenly over the rose bushes.
The wealth is to be distributed evenly amongst the affluent. Oh, and the low-income earners will get a share of the remaining divisions after 1rst, 2nd, and 3rd divisions are divvied out.
Those that run for public transport are doomed to failure. Your morning bus live to fulfil Murphy’s law: They will pull away from the curb the second you realise that is the bus that will get you to your destination on time.
Those that keep three cats or more in their home will receive love and compassion beyond any human comprehension. But you know that already. Cats do that to you.
Those that build cat-runs for their cats, rather than letting them run loose to kill and destroy native vegetation, will be reincarnated as a feline of choice. And we all know there ain’t any better reward than that!
Those that smoke nicotine deliberately will receive all they deserve. Those that smoke passively, and I don’t mean with love, will be allowed to clout those that do with imaginary frying pans at any time. If you find that doesn’t help, you are also permitted to continually remind those that smoke of the way they are going to die because of their unnatural addiction.
You lot in the cubicles staring at your calendars, watches, both analogue and digital: Your jobs will be made obsolete before your pension is paid. You will learn what ‘redundancy’, ‘expendable’ and ‘unemployable’ really mean.
Those people giving their own future away to someone else will inherit the earth. Under my new rules, ANYONE who gives of themselves to the betterment of society, humanity or both (because too often they are not the same thing!) will survive without plastic implants. Whatever that means.
Those that run-for-pleasure are fools. Six-pack abdominals are not a reward, but a flabby midriff in your eighties. Think about that before you turn your teenage to thirty-something year old body into a lean-mean-fighting machine. You can’t take it with you. Unless you are buried in a coffin. But even then, a few days later it’s just gonna be worm food!