The Garden of Infinite Fucks
The student had grown weary with the world. Despite all their best efforts, nothing seemed to change. Observing their frustration, the teacher invited them to bear their angst over tea, in the teacher’s garden.
“I don’t know what the fuck to do” said the student. “Nothing I do makes a fucking difference. I’m straight outta fucks.”
“My child” said the teacher “you must never run out of fucks.”
“Easy for you to say” replied the student. “Nothing fucks with you. You just sit here in your fucking garden not giving a fuck about anything.”
“To the contrary” said the teacher. “What you are describing is not an abundance or a dearth of fucks. What you are describing is allocation.”
“Fuck is that supposed to mean?” asked the student.
“Observe my garden, child” the teacher said, their outstretched arms pointing to flowers in every direction, as far as the eye could see. “Imagine each flower you see is a fuck I carefully cultivated. I planted the seeds of each fuck, ensured it received sunshine and water. I made sure each of my fucks had sufficient distance from each other, so as not to encroach on each other’s nutrients, yet close enough to be interconnected.
“I protect my fucks from inclement weather, and nourish the soil in which they grow. I carefully prune my fucks, and know their seasons. Every fuck is precious, because fucks mean you care and the world is desperately in need of caring. I have infinite fucks” the teacher said, plucking one flower and handing it to the student. “But I only have one fuck for you today. I do not give my fucks out indiscriminately. I have nary a fuck to waste.”
“But what’s the point of having all these fucks if nothing ever changes?” asked the student.
“Look around you, child” encouraged the teacher. “As the bees carry pollen from my flowers, so does change germinate from well cultivated fucks. The world is indeed a fucked up place” assented the teacher “but you must never be entirely bereft of fucks. The fucks you grow today are the seeds of change tomorrow.”
“I can’t give a fuck about everything” bemoaned the student. “I’m beat. I got no fucks left to give.”
“Again fucker, you’re confusing possession with distribution” replied the teacher. “You can have infinite fucks and learn when and how to give a fuck about someone or something that really fucking matters, instead of fucking whinging about it. Don’t waste your fucks on dumb shit. Learn to stay in your fucking lane.”
The eyes of the student opened wide. Enlightenment had entered them; either that or they were high as a fucking kite, or both. It didn’t fucking matter. In that moment they’d realized that while fucks were not an unlimited resource, they could judiciously pick and choose which situations weren’t worth giving fuck about, and which required entire bouquets of fucks. The student thanked the teacher for their time, their wisdom, their flowers, and the single fuck given.
“You’re fucking welcome” said the teacher. “Now get the fuck outta here. And if you step on any of my fucking flowers on the way out it’s your fucking neck.”
