Influential People in the Life of a White-Male Pseudo-Intellectual in his Mid-Twenties Volume 5: What Would Clint Do?

I feel sometimes as though my lack of faith, religion and spiritual belief has left me rudderless. Why can't I have an illogical mystical totem to consult when faced with my daily decisions? Why do I have to be alone in the void? To satisy this lack of a dictated value system I am comissioning a rubber bracelet with the letters WWCD inscribed on it:

What Would Clint Do?

The right thing, that's what he'd do. Should I have bought a poppy off that old guy from the Legion? Even if it meant I couldn't afford the tobacco I was going to get? Should I have stopped after hitting that postman with my 106? Even though I was drunk? Was it right to use the last teabag? Even though I wasn't even thirsty and was only making tea because I was bored? When faced with these situations in the future I can look to my wrist and know what my recourse needs to be. What Would Clint Do?

The right thing.

He may look as though he eats handfuls of wood chippings like they're Quavers, he may wear the perpetual sneer of a caretaker who's just found a turd in a urinal, his voice sounds like a breeze block on a belt sander, his face is carved from sandblasted desert rock by a rusty chainsaw and he has the cold black eyes of a rattlesnake staring up at you while you squat behind a rock with a newspaper and the rumblings of last night's chilli... But this is just because the world is wrong and Clint is right. And to be right like Clint requires gumption. I'm not there yet but, Clint-willing, someday I will be.

Postscript - I wrote this piece for my MA show last year. A day before the show Clint Eastwood spoke at the Republican National Convention. I am now forced to add the following caveat to my Eastwood Worship:

When asked to address a crowd about "the need for change", What Would Clint Do? Mumble at an empty chair like a Goddamned nutbar, that's what.