Hi, my name is Phillip Cross and I am here to present to you readers the secret of Anti-Meditation. Why would I share such an amazing gift with you for no compensation whatsoever? Well, for starters, have you looked outside recently? Life is slow and boring and everybody thinks too much. I'm not gonna write some book (though I could) and I'm not gonna make some stupid DVD to sell to a bunch of dissatisfied suckers on the Internet. This one's a freebie, if only because the world needs it.

About six months ago I was in a bad way. I had psychosomatic ailments like you wouldn't believe because of my stupid job. Back aches, rashes, high blood pressure, insomnia. You name it, it was ruining my day and seemingly incurable. The doctor said it was stress. When I asked him for some pills, he wouldn't give me the script. Then I went to another doctor, my neighbor Mrs. Matlin's GP. Judging by the way ol' Tammy hobbled around in her bath robe all day I assumed she had Doc Romers on speed dial for all of her so-called meds. Then I get to Romers and the jerk tells me it's gonna cost me $600 a month just to take the edge off.

Screw that.

So, I found this Zen meditation center and signed up for their beginners course. What a waste of time and money that was. It's real hard to find your center and clear your mind and all that crap when your gums spontaneously bleed for no reason. And anyway, the only thing that happened is I started to think of all the stuff I didn't normally have time to worry about.

That's when it hit me. It wasn't my life that bothered me. Hell, everybody has to deal with the same crap I do. No, it was thinking that got me into trouble. I didn't need to clear my mind, I needed to blow it up. That's when I began pursuing Anti-Meditation. I haven't perfected the method yet and you'll probably have to tweak the recipe for whatever works best for you, but I'm already seeing some progress so here's what I have so far.

Every day at 7:00 AM a snort a No-Doze and drink homemade Frappucino through an extensive network of straws that have access points at various places around my apartment. I shower with a special body wash that includes trace amounts of ammonium carbonate and a synthetic form of mescaline that has yet to be banned by any world government except for Haiti. I then run to work (approximately five miles) while imagining I'm being chased by a vicious dragon made of rusty chainsaws.

Throughout the work day I consume an average of two gallons of coffee in 1-liter increments. I attack my keyboard with my fingers, aided by pictures of my sworn enemies taped to each letter. On my lunch break I bungee jump from the roof of the building while listening to hardcore techno on my MP3 player. The first time I did this the security guys tried to stop me, so I bare-knuckle boxed them and then screamed at my boss until he agreed not to fire me. I didn't actually say anything to him. I just screamed. A lot.

Since I began the practice of Anti-Meditation I have made $65,000 in straight commission from sales at work. Nothing bothers me anymore because I can do anything and I will always win. I got into a fight with a moving automobile last Tuesday and now I've got its front fender hanging up in my living room as a trophy.

I am unstoppable. I never sleep.

So, screw all that inner peace nonsense. The universe isn't peaceful. Most of the universe is made of stars and you know what a star is? A star is a roiling mass of atomic violence that gets even more bad-ass when it dies. And that's what I am now that I Anti-Meditate. The doctor says my new habits will cut my lifespan in half at best, but I know that when I die I will become a singularity of pure fearlessness and productivity. The Grim Reaper doesn't have the stones to handle Phillip J. Cross.