cake

The true test of advancing age is not when you first hear a song you thought was hard core in high school, rendered as muzak while at the super market. That usually occurs in your late twenties. Nor is it the appearance of the pre-crow's feet lines in the corners of your eyes that you shockingly discover as if they appeared over night one sunny morning. That's what your thirties are about. No, it is none of those things that let you know that you have reached the summit and teetered over the tipping point, where the icy hand of death is slowly, silently creeping closer and closer. Today, I crossed the apex, over to the negative slope of the backside of life. And what was this penultimate event that let me know that I'm desperately clawing to the remnants of light as descend into the eternal sunset? Today I … not only saw a CD I liked in a bin at the car wash, I (gasp) bought it. I'm so ashamed. (sigh) I guess that's it. Senility is around the corner and it's fiber with every meal. And I was wondering why prunes have started to taste so good.




PS. If the guy at the car wash asks you what scent you want applied to the upholstery, don't pick "citrus breeze". My car now smells like a urinal cake at a welfare motel. If I had only known.

winners

Wow, I lost a few subscribers due to my Easter blog. Perhaps I should adopt a lighter tone. Ok, I’ll lighten up. So in a new spirit of fellowship with all of mankind, I would like to propose a new reality television show. One that would not only encourage those of us who sometimes have to struggle with the trials and tribulations of everyday life, but also enable those of us who have been able to enjoy the finer things, to take a step back, and take account of all this beautiful and wondrous world has to offer. I would call the show:

“People Who Should Be Shot in the Face”

Now, bear with me. Basically, I would take a bunch of people, 50% of whom only have their G.E.D.s, mix in a few ex-crack whores who now manage their children’s careers, add a few male prostitutes, and at least one billionaire with a really bad weave, put them onto some tropical island, or ridiculous mansion, and allow them to backstab, scheme, screw, and cheat their way to the top. Just like every other reality show, the biggest asshole will win. The only difference will be that at the end… BLAM!!! We have a winner!

It’s very gratifying to be able to contribute to a better world like this.

pissed

So far, the highlights of my life have been: when I toilet trained myself as a toddler, and when I finally got DSL enabling me to download porn up to 100 times faster than dial up. Everything in between has been muddled and ill defined. I've got to speak to whoever's in charge. According to The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Universe, white mice are pan-dimensional beings running the whole show. I don't think so. If that were true, I would imagine that I would run into them every so often. Let's see. Who, or what kind of strange creatures do I come across at odd occasions? Come to think of it, a couple of months ago while I was driving home on a dark and lonely road, I almost ran over a chicken. And more than a few times, I've found chickens running around my back yard. And you know, just this last Saturday, when I got out of the woods after mountain biking, there were two chickens patrolling around my car. Now, unless I fell asleep and some how woke up in Nicaragua, there's something strange afoot. Could it be that they're the pan dimensional beings pushing all the buttons... or maybe they're just pissed off that I go to KFC so much?