The world is full of fun, and everyone wants their share except Noam Chomsky. Fun, the zero-sum game. Sometimes we see other people having the fun that rightfully should have been ours. To feel resentment at the merriment of others is the first step down the road to mature adult bitterness. Sometimes we lower our buckets into the well of fun a few too many times and pay for it later. We find ourselves parched or caked with an itchy layer of earnestness but the fun well is bone dry. I had a lot of fun a few years ago so now I'm in a sort of fun drought. I'm sucking on a thin trickle of pleasure and not wasting a precious drop. I don't feel bad about it, it's difficult not to be greedy when fun is right in front of you. Who knows what the future holds after all, grab fun by either the horns or the balls, whatever's closest. Sometimes the fun pendulum, or "fundulum" as I've just this moment dubbed it, swings back and suddenly you're immersed in fun again, positively wading in fun, but sometimes it doesn't and you're just in permanent loser mode, wading knee deep in absolutely nothing except whatever the opposite or absence of fun is. This might be your chance, to binge is only natural. How can the swing of a pendulum cause you to be knee deep in something, that's a really awful mixed metaphor. How terrible, I'm not having any fun and I suck at writing. Oh well. Too bad you can't hoard fun, save some for a rainy day. Fun is perishable, in fact it begins to go bad even while you're in the middle of experiencing it. What would be ideal would be a kind of salt lick to which you could return whenever the mood strikes you, down in the family room, or hidden under the bed so your brother doesn't find it. A lick of fun. I could use some fun right about now, a lick of fun.