Oh, crap. Yet another birthday. I think I had a record number of people remind me I've witnessed the earth circle the sun yet again. Between the radio people electing to discuss their INTERCOURSE PROBLEMS in the morning using NATIONAL AIRWAVES to broadcast their LIBIDO ISSUES and POSITION WOES, I got what I think must be three years worth of dreary reminders I'm old.
Which got me thinking, shouldn't we have a law stating that, if you volunteer information about lack of libido for national radio, you should be summarily labeled a threat to society, shot, fed to red fire ants, shot some more, and then sent to some desolate wasteland?
But also, it got me thinking - and I'm quoting my brain in verbatim here- “Dude, I'm old.” Yep, yep, yep. Yes I am. I've turned 22, and man, it is bitter. I've forgotten what it feels like to be chipper during a birthday, mainly due to the fact that people who enjoy growing older are deviants, by which I mean lunatics.
Consider the facts:
> Every year after you turn 20, you lose roughly a gram of braincells perfectly capable of handling discussions about other people's intercourse problems and libido issues,
> Evidently Eddie Gil, Paris Hilton and Dubya had a head start
> People over the age of 18 are 65 percent more likely to read self-help books, the literary equivalent of urinals in art house displays
And those are benign ones. You don't even want to think about the loss of bladder control, quoting “The Godfather,” or the apparently uncontrollable urge to disclose your position woes on radio.
So it's really quite a spectacle that there are well-meaning people who take time out of their precious day to remind you you're that much closer to being over the hill. To everyone who greeted me, thanks. I'll try and return the favor, provided I've enough braincells left.
But the point is, I'm old. Hell, I can feel my bladder drafting proposals for independence. And as my past year bites the dust, I'm going to indulge myself just this once, as so many old people seem to, and talk about great life has been so far, and how lucky---
Sorry, I gotta pee.
Which got me thinking, shouldn't we have a law stating that, if you volunteer information about lack of libido for national radio, you should be summarily labeled a threat to society, shot, fed to red fire ants, shot some more, and then sent to some desolate wasteland?
But also, it got me thinking - and I'm quoting my brain in verbatim here- “Dude, I'm old.” Yep, yep, yep. Yes I am. I've turned 22, and man, it is bitter. I've forgotten what it feels like to be chipper during a birthday, mainly due to the fact that people who enjoy growing older are deviants, by which I mean lunatics.
Consider the facts:
> Every year after you turn 20, you lose roughly a gram of braincells perfectly capable of handling discussions about other people's intercourse problems and libido issues,
> Evidently Eddie Gil, Paris Hilton and Dubya had a head start
> People over the age of 18 are 65 percent more likely to read self-help books, the literary equivalent of urinals in art house displays
And those are benign ones. You don't even want to think about the loss of bladder control, quoting “The Godfather,” or the apparently uncontrollable urge to disclose your position woes on radio.
So it's really quite a spectacle that there are well-meaning people who take time out of their precious day to remind you you're that much closer to being over the hill. To everyone who greeted me, thanks. I'll try and return the favor, provided I've enough braincells left.
But the point is, I'm old. Hell, I can feel my bladder drafting proposals for independence. And as my past year bites the dust, I'm going to indulge myself just this once, as so many old people seem to, and talk about great life has been so far, and how lucky---
Sorry, I gotta pee.
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