Tomorrow I celebrate the 33rd anniversary of my journey down my mother’s dirty waterslide. I use the term celebrate loosely as; if you have children, you are well aware that you cease to exist for damn near everybody unless they want something. I’ve no issue with being a year older. I certainly don’t act like I’m a responsible and mature adult (as my wife can attest) and I don’t feel my age either because Wii Fit told me so. I’m sure it will be a day the same as any other. Go to work, get yelled at by assorted asshats, drive home to the soothing harmonies of Nickleback on the radio, cook supper, watch a movie and drift off to the sweet relief of sleep. Although, I do have Friday off, so I might shake things up with a rousing game of Canasta. It’s really pretty standard fare for a mid-week birth date. Nope, I’m totally cool with being another year closer to my grave.
Fuck! I have a goatee. Fuck! All my money goes to my daughters and wife. Fuck! I have a man cave. Fuck! I own almost all the Disney movies, but I swear I didn’t cry during Aladdin. Fuck! I have that mini-van. No, not a mini-van, that mini-van!
Is this what I’ve become? Am I a not-quite-middle-aged, sock and sandal wearing, lawn pruning milquetoast? Do I really look like I’d have more fun at Chuck E. Cheese with untamed demon spawn running roughshod all over my fragile sanity than at a strip club making it rain tens upon tens of dollars? Do you actually think that I’m that creepy old guy who chats up the high school girls at the senior prom I wasn’t invited to? I wouldn’t be caught dead in a pair of pleated Dockers with a fucking cuff. I roll straight cuffs motherfucker! I know all of the kid’s slang and can use it in sentences!
To hell with this bullshit! I’m going out to get slizzerd, some mad phat ink, bang some young, tight hookers and light shit on fire. I’m going to wake up in jail encircled by the rough yet loving arms of some dude named Horatio and give the judge the finger at my bail hearing. When I finally get out I’m going to buy a motorcycle and join a biker gang for camaraderie and not for the awesome leather chaps. Then I’m going to have six old ladies and settle down and buy a house and raise a family and aawwwww fuck!
I’m going to go eat a shotgun.