Have you ever wished you could tell seventeen-year-old you not to worry so much about the future? Not to bother with the things that aren’t important? And to know that everything’s going to get better?
Lately, a lot of athletes have sent letters to themselves, in the past, and I thought I’d do the same. I think it’s a cathartic exercise, and it made me appreciate better who I am and how I’ve grown over the years. Maybe you should try it to.
Dear 17-year-old Ed,
This is Ed from the future, writing you a letter. What’s up, player? You good? I know you can’t answer… Anyway… How’s it going? It’s going good for me. But I do have some serious advice for you that I hope you’ll take to heart. Here it is:
Number one: don’t smoke crack. I can’t emphasize this enough. Number two: stop acting so fucking stupid. And number three: make me some fucking money. Jesus Christ. I’m waiting and I still don’t see money. Or a car or that I’m living in a mansion. This is like time travel, right? What the fuck are you doing?
O.K. Here’s some more advice. Don’t shoot that porn with Nasty Rick. Seriously. Don’t. And don’t order that Russian bride. She’s a dude and she’ll steal all your shit. Don’t have sex with fruit. It ends up ruining your penis and you start to only want to have sex with fruit and that fucks up all your relationships.
Still no money. What the fuck. I’m going back in time and I’m telling you to make me money and it’s not here. I guess buy stock in Apple? Or Microsoft? Is that how it works? Still waiting…
I guess in closing I want to say this to you, seventeen-year-old Ed. You fucking suck. Go ahead and do the crack and all that other stuff because my advice obviously isn’t helping. You just end up doing all the stupid shit I did anyway.
I’ll write soon,
Ed from the future
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