Four Fresh Lifehacks

Lifehacks, I know, I know. Our wonderful Gooptopian society just loves ‘em now that they come in free, easy-to-digest, pixel lists instead of being cathode-beamed into your sad soul at three in the morning in their previous form (infomercials). Wasn’t that such a hollow, deadening crush? But the thing is, most of them are so pointless or unneeded that you have to go twenty minutes out of your way just to save five seconds! You’re probably saying, “Man, I feel you” into your computer screen and here I am smugly nodding like, “right?” Then we go back and forth for a while talking about how mason jars are “fine, like I get it, but not EVERYTHING has to be put in a mason jar” until finally, exhaustedly, you ask, “but aren’t there any hacks of life that actually improve my… life?”

Then I hit you with some dope truths. For free.

Craft a Dream-Goblin To Eat Your Sins and Worries

Firstly, your Dream-Goblin should be all kinds of nasty. A common interpretation of a goblin will do if you’re in a hurry, though I suggest spending some dedicated time deciding what kind of mythical beast you want living in the shadows of your mind. Get creative! A friend of mine employs a Paula Deen-Michael Jackson hybrid drawn in the animation style of “Ren and Stimpy.” I myself go the more classical route and use a weathered ol’ Hippalectryon, which is perfect for stamping and clawing all the grey anxiety worms burrowing throughout my subconscious.

Once you’ve got your beast in mind, draw some detailed pictures of him/her/shim/herm on parchment paper. Then, collect any receipts you have of purchases you foolishly made, pink slips from jobs lost, printed Facebook photos you’ve untagged yourself from in a hungover haze of shame and regret, and any tangible evidence of once-pursued dreams left drowning in the River of Cold Reality. Now rip these papers into dime-sized pieces and place them in a bowl. Pour a mixture of 1 part gasoline, 10 parts Mad Dog 20/20, and 10 parts Zima. Garnish with a pinch of ash. Stir until pulpy and guzzle quickly. Light a candle of Unrequited Love and belch with the all of your existence into the flame. Do not be alarmed if the fire-breathing sounds like the unbaptized souls of shrieking children—this means it’s working!

Now you’re done! For the rest of your life, as you slumber, your personal goblin will gnaw and destroy all of the regret, anxiety, fear, and dread that surfs the tides of your somnambulant thought, leaving you refreshed and clean each morning.1

1 Unfortunately, I do not yet know where the waste these creatures create is deposited, nor how. This may be problematic, lol!




Create A Living Coffin

Lie down in the moonshadow cast across the desert floor of the Mojave, on a bed of thick manzanita bushes, where none of this matters, where your carbon is slowly given back to the earth, its rightful owner, unbothered by the Mason Jar Gustapo, never having to creatively plug in an iPhone, unfettered by the grip of death-distracting craft tutorials. Wear sunscreen!





Replace Your Gallbladder With A Helium-Neon Sponge

Have you ever been at brunch when Kathy is all, “I was so uncomfortable I wanted to vomit!”? Or even shared this same sentiment over various other human interactions? Boy, have I! But the sad reality is that, as members of polite society, we can’t just go vomiting all over the place to show our extreme disgust in the face of mildly annoying conversation.

Purchase a Helium-Neon Sponge. You can find these in mystical antique shops or peddled by your local alley shaman. Then you’ll need to perform a simple operation. I suggest laying down some tarp or canvas—tarp for easy cleanup, canvas for blood-spatter art! Reach behind you to your supple lower back and feel around for your Hidden Access Panel (HAP). There should be a sub-dermal button at the top right corner of the door, which will slide the panel open. It’ll look a bit like a distribution board, with many switches and wires. Find the switch labeled “Gall Access” and flip it to “open.” Now you can access another panel and reach right in there, yank that GB out, and shove your new sponge in its place. Be sure to reconnect the wires! While you’re still in there, install a new Immediate Action Button (IAB) to the Gag-Line. I position mine in my belly button, as it’s a rarely prodded area. Close yourself back up, maybe read some first-aid eHows if you’ve bled too much.

Now, when Gregg is regaling you with his recap of “Game of Thrones” near the water cooler, and it seems you have no escape, discreetly reach for your Immediate Action Button and jam that sucker in! Instantly, your gag reflex will totally freak out and you’ll spew the sweet, beautiful gas living in the sponge. Instead of bile and half-digested Cosi, out comes floating, vibrant neon colors. Your victim will be confused, yes, but more importantly shocked into a state of pure awe, staring deeply into the rainbow cloud, as you make your stealth escape.




A Bonus Death-Hack

Take thirty Polaroid i-Zone photographs of the most beautiful things and people you love. Cover the back of the developed photos with glue-stick and swallow each one in whole gulps. Be sure to telepathically transmit directions to skip the route to the stomach and affix themselves anterior to the rib cage and chest cavity. When the coroner performs your inevitable autopsy, as they make the Y-incision and peel your skin from your torso, they will be treated to a wonderfully cute surprise! Like a gory lil’ scrapbook in your chest cavity. Feel free to create a Pinterest board to plan your photographs before committing to printing and swallowing them.





Alan Hanson is a Californian writer living in Harlem.