Be skeptical, consult with self-improvement charlatans, then ignore them.
Be original; stop quoting from The Art of War.
Be assertive; practice decision-making by swallowing gum.
Be realistic; life is not a bowl of cherries.
Practice moderation; you can share thirty-six-ounce steaks.
Become a connoisseur; try espresso in Italy; for Brie, go to France.
Build confidence; sign up for a week at a nudist camp.
Exercise, grate daikons, carrots and beats.
Watch your health; eat the daikons, carrots, and beats.
Build self-esteem, dream big, but wake up ready to face reality.
Empathy works against you when surrounded by assholes.
There is no need to keep your enemies closer.
Balance is everything; children increase entropy and joy.
Accept facts: you cannot bend a fluorescent tube.
If you said, “What is done is done,” you wasted time.
The previous sentence is in the past.
There is nothing in the present, so don’t spend time there.
The future is at the end of this sentence.
When all else fails, embrace imperfection.

Sudden bleeding, complications, a cesarian operation,
I came into the world her twin, glad to meet my next of kin.
Just five pounds in heated cribs, much too small for burping bibs,
Anxiety was quite pronounced, at least until each gained an ounce,
On the eighth day – bless tradition, I lost some weight to circumcision.
Then, when I was cut and dried, we went back home to start a pride.

I went to school six days a week; of forty kids, the greatest geek,
Jakob, Josheph, Moses, Josuah; Hertzel, Ben Gurion and Golda,
Aristotle, Sophocles, and Plato, Ceasar, Ciscero, and Cato,
Jerusalem and Jewish temples, Bethlehem and the disciples,
Math and Physics, Chemistry, Lavoisier, Marie Curie.
A perfect nerd, I never ditched; I kept low hopes of getting hitched.

My twin, since pregnancy and labor, introduced me to her neighbor,
Who, walking home along an alley, turned and said, “I want a family.”
She would let me share her life if I worked from nine to five.
There was one more small condition… a father ranks beneath the offspring.
I wash the dishes, eat my keesh, and tolerate Gefilte Fish.
Forty years in seventh heaven, I am now number eleven.

But this was all before AI did not tell us all those lies.
A flood of apps upset our lives, iPad, iPhone, and my wife’s.
When Siri and Alexa came, they listened and obeyed,
And when we left to go somewhere, they stayed at home and played.
Then Waze appeared from overseas – oh, that was a surprise,
This app pretends to know the routes my dearest memorized.

My love and Waze don’t get along; they argue all the time.
They disagree on what comes next; both order me around:
“Go right,” “Keep straight,” “You missed the turn,” cacophony abounds.
I can’t agree with both of them, but cannot let one down.
I am distraught, distressed, and worried-sick, afflicted with these woes.
Is there a happy end to this? Please tell me if you know.