Cliched Meaning of Life

The Cliched Meaning of Life.

Here it is in text format:

Have you ever seen a performance so inspirational, gone through a breakup so challenging, or had a milkshake that was so delicious . . . you started to contemplate the meaning of life? The essence of our existence? The significance of our sentience?

I don’t know; it’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately—the meaning of life. But the more you read, the more confusing it all seems. Maybe the meaning of life is money . . .

As they say money makes the world go ’round . . .
Yet they also say the best things in life are free.
So do you live free or die hard?
Cuz to make ends meet
You have to start rollin’ in the dough.

But doe, a deer, a female deer . . .
Is nothing when the buck stops right here.
And I ain’t saying she’s a gold digger,
But mo money mo problems,
So you better check yourself before you wreck yourself,
Because money can’t buy happiness.

But don’t worry, be happy,
And live happily ever after
In a land far far away
Where there’s light at the end of the tunnel.
And to pass with flying colors,
Don’t color outside the lines
But think outside the box.

I don’t want to go off on a tangent
But things don’t add up
If it’s the thought that counts
And it’s better to give than to receive
Then sharing is caring.

But Jimmy crack corn and I don’t care,
Because crack is whack
And it’s hugs not drugs,
So put that in your pipe and smoke it.

But do you just say no
Or do you just do it?
If impossible is nothing,
Then a mission impossible
Ain’t nothing but a g thang, baby.
So stop, collaborate, and listen.

Because maybe the meaning of life isn’t money; maybe the meaning of life is knowledge.

Because knowledge is power
And with great power comes great responsibility,
So don’t just drink responsibly, but think responsibly,
Because I know what you did last summer.

And knowing is half the battle.
But is it a battle of the wits
Or a battle to the death?
Is the pen mightier than the sword,
Or is it a sword in the stone,
That can break my bones, when words will never hurt me.

Because I’m rubber and you’re glue, so whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you
So speak now or forever hold your peace.
And don’t judge a book by its cover,
Because beauty is only skin deep.
And if looks can kill
And I wear my heart on my sleeve,
Then I’m armed and dangerous.

And home is where the heart is
And there’s no place like home,
Sweet home, Alabama.
But that’s just my state of mind
In this state of denial
Of the status quo.

I say carpe diem
If it’s quid pro quo
Get yourself tit for tat,
And break me off a piece of that.

So eat great, even late
Because if you’re hungry, why wait?
Except patience is a virtue,
So don’t stop believin’ but
Stop, in the name of love.

Because maybe the meaning life isn’t money or knowledge; maybe the meaning of life is love.

What’s love got to do with it? (Got to do with it?)
Well, love conquers all,
And even if you’ve lost that loving’ feeling,
Know that it’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.

Because there are plenty of fish in the sea,
And when Love is in the air
You’ll be walking on cloud nine.
But when it rains it pours,
And if you’re under the weather
And can’t see through the fog
We may not see eye-to-eye.

If love is blind
And hindsight is 20/20,
Then is love at first sight
Really meant to be?

Or not to be? That’s the question.
And if you’ve got question, we’ve got answers,
If you can do it, we can help,
Because when you’re here, you’re family,
And family matters
As you step by step
Through the wonder years.

Because what goes up, must come down,
What goes around, comes around.
There’s nothing to fear but fear itself.
To live and learn
You have to crash and burn,
And the only failure is quitting.

So what are you waiting for?
To have the time of your life.
You have to find the time
To live a life worth living
So stop, hammertime.

Maybe the meaning of life isn’t money, knowledge, or love. Maybe the meaning of life is to find meaning in life. Or maybe it’s milkshakes; I don’t know.

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