I'm a sloth so no I'm fairly lazy.

McDonalds may be a where a kid can be a kid but it is no place for a sloth.

Long ago I used to eat fast food from McDonalds. That give me really high cholesterol. At the same time that I had high cholesterol Combos came out and I couldn't eat them. I will never forgive McDonalds for delaying my enjoyment of that beautiful, life-altering snack.

Combos combine all that is good with our 'Better Living Through Chemistry'. A pretzel with creamy questionable filling on the inside, what more could one ask for in life? Of course there will always with the perennial 'Where is the bathroom' question but the joys of Combos should not be taken lightly. Rather those things will make you heavy, I'm talking serious bro.

Every time I eat Combos I feel better about the cruel, oftentimes cold world we live in, a world where McDonalds exists. Sure they are both total pieces of garbage but I generally feel better about eating junk food far away from people.

Yes

I have most of what I need. I have friends, family, shelter, and food. Many people don't have all of those things. I'm grateful for what I've been given and what I'm able to give others. I try to live a balanced, thoughtful life as much as is possible.

Unfortunately I'm not particularly athletic. This comes from my persistent, non-stop use of the internet. Also I'm a sloth.

I completely lack rhythm or grace. That's why I dance alone :)

I have lots of cavities. I love candy.

I recycle. I'm a blogger.

39

This is a really good question. I guess if I made enough money (through art like writing and such) I'd probably reveal myself. Think it would have to be a large amount of money. Wish I knew. Honestly I created Beach Sloth more out of joy than out of any financial gain.

I am as blind as a bat which is ironic because I'm a sloth.

Wait, how can you get a question promoted? Should I tweet more to get this kind of 'internet cred'? How much internet credit do I need to ask the questions?

Only if they are roller-coasters of love.

Mouse on Mars. I want to see these guys so badly it literally hurts my insides.

I am a pet.

Trains usually show me the inner-most depressing parts of suburbia: the backyard. So I'm going to say train.

Sports teams are the least interesting things I can possibly imagine. I literally would do anything else with my life before I care about sports. I know others love them but it is so not for me.

Death is part of life. I want control of my death. Let me explain what I want to happen on my last day on Earth (when I'll die at 121).

I wake up and eat Morningstar farms bacon. Outside the weather will be perfect. Mr. Sun will shine down on me and say 'Shit son you're mad old'. And I'd respond 'Look who is talking, bitchass ball of gas'. Then the sun will shut his stupid face and I'll go out for a bike ride. In a split second decision I'll go biking around Queens since Queens is pretty nice. I will go across the Pulaski Bridge. I will stop in the middle of the bridge to look at the dirty water and think to myself ‘Damn that is some nasty water.' Some idiot will be kayaking in it because people are so stupid.

Long Island City shall keep me occupied. After 100 years or so from now people will continue saying Long Island City is on the verge of gentrification for whatever reason nobody really felt like gentrifying it. It isn't really that bad a place where you're like 'Oh yeah, this place is way better now'. Nope, instead people will think to themselves 'Eh, it seems pretty okay but doesn't attract any hip artsy crap'. That's Long Island City's fate.

At a diner I'll drink a $5 malted milk shake. The shake will taste like 121 years of my life. Suddenly my life will flash before my eyes as I think of everything that has passed through my eyes. I'll think about the presidency of Nicholas Cage and how that got us the 51st state of Uruguay that everybody seems pretty indifferent towards. Parts of advertisements flood my mind, like the advertisements for the Lady Gaga sex doll and how she loves it when you poke her face (the implication being that you should stick your penis into her mouth like some plastic blowjob). I will think about how the suburbs turned back into nature since nobody really wanted to be there, with some exurbs scattered about. Neon Indian will flood my mind and how he used to be so clean cut before his music got all druggie. Post-chillwave will blare in the diner as people associate themselves heavily with music.

Once I have left a 20% tip I continue biking. I see the UN across from me. I wonder how the UN morphed from a conflict-resolution center into a place sponsored by Coors Lite and Frosted Flakes. Frosted Flakes owns 3 countries: the Maldives or what remains of it after the sea levels rise, Albania, and the micro-nation Seeland which needed money in order for it to jump-start its world-class pornography industry.

Brooklyn beckons me. I hang out at the Alligator Lounge alone since I'm 121 and all my friends are dead. This doesn't make me sad. Rather I think I look really good for 121. Somebody does Karaoke in the back and I think they seem cool. We talk for a while and they invite me to hang out at their place. They tell me they are looking for new music suggestions. I tell them I have over 90,000 bands to suggest. First I need to finish my beer I tell them before I join them. I finish my beer. I walk outside. A grand piano falls out of the sky, crushing me instantly.

That's how I want to die. Call me old-fashioned but death by Grand Piano seems appropriate. When I was a tiny infant my parents used to have a giant Grand Piano in our house. I kept on hitting my head against it because the house was so small. My parents got rid of it, selling it to someone because they didn't want me to hurt my head any more. At that time I defeated the Grand Piano. When I die it I will be hit by that same Grand Piano which had been harboring that resentment for decades. That seems balanced to me.

That's okay. Nobody asks me questions anymore. Guess my mystery is over. Time to live in the light.

Why not both?