In a few months I’ll turn 25. Afterwards, it’ll be like half a decade before I reach 30. Imagine that. Two and a half decades. And now looking back, I see I have this impressive list of achievements in my life so far:

Um, okay. Maybe I don’t have any real achievements at all. Except for that mustache. They can’t get any finer than that, nosiree.

So to help me out in figuring what i want in life, I’ve commissioned my inner child to give me a pep talk. Or something.

INNER CHILD:   So, you quit your job, eh?
ME:   Yes I did.
INNER CHILD:   Didn’t you enjoy your job?
ME:   Yeah, kinda. But c’mon, I can’t spend the rest of my life answering calls and helping rednecks find the start button. I have to plan and make sure I become a somebody by I’m 27. Or something.
INNER CHILD:   Oh shit.
ME:   What?
INNER CHILD:   You’re planning.
ME:   Yeah? So?
INNER CHILD:   You’re planning!
ME:   I honestly don’t see the point here.
INNER CHILD:   You’re *gasp* growing up!
ME:   …
INNER CHILD:   What?
ME:   In case you never noticed, I’m pushing 25 while you’re, what, seven?
INNER CHILD:   Eight.
ME:   Whatever. Point is, by the time somebody reaches a certain age, they become all too aware of their limited time on earth. And we can only do one of two things.
INNER CHILD:   Two things? You mean watch porn and… watch porn?
ME:   …
INNER CHILD:   Whaaat?
ME:   We either try to stop the impending mortality, which as we all know doesn’t work, or we could try to achieve whatever we want so by the time we reach that great beyond we’d have dome it all.
INNER CHILD:   …
ME:   So, um, yeah.
INNER CHILD:   This talk of death is making me queasy.
ME:   I wasn’t talking about death, I meant-
INNER CHILD:   Yeah, but c’mon! You’re becoming old! Next thing I know you’ll end up with liniment slathered all over your joints and you’d end up stinking of eucalyptus!
ME:   Er, what? I’m turning 25, not 65.
INNER CHILD:   So they’ve got a forty-year difference. So what?
ME:   …
INNER CHILD:   OLD FOGEY!
ME:   Hey, wait, what the hell-
INNER CHILD:   OLD SMELLY MAN!
ME:   Okay, that’s enough-
INNER CHILD:   YOU’RE AS OLD AS MY GRANDPA! AND YOU STINK- LIKE HIM!
ME:   …
INNER CHILD:   WOULD YOU LIKE TO BORROW MY GRANDPA’S WALKING CANE?
ME:   …
INNER CHILD:   I’M PRETTY SURE YOU ALSO HAVE ERECTILE DYSFUNCTION OR SOMETHING-
ME:   OKAY! THAT’S ENOUGH! SHUT UP!
INNER CHILD:   …
ME:   What?
INNER CHILD:   Y-you screamed at me.
ME:   Yeah, because you won’t shut up?
INNER CHILD:   Next thing I know you’ll be screaming at me to get off your goddamn lawn! And you’ll refer to me as a goddamn kid!
ME:   I’ve always called you a goddamn kid.
INNER CHILD:   YOU CRANKY OLD MAN!
ME:   Seriously, enough old man talk. 25 is young.
INNER CHILD:   Not to an eight year old! You’re like… ancient history!
ME:   Can we stop talking about my age and let’s talk about me maturing and shit?
INNER CHILD:   Lolz, you’re not mature. Not even close.
ME:   What?
INNER CHILD:   Yeah, you’re probably the most immature person I know.
ME:   Um, I’m the only person you know.
INNER CHILD:   Who cares? You’re reeking of immaturity. Know why?
ME:   …
INNER CHILD:   Because you write this retarded shit conversation with an imaginary inner child on this blog.
ME:   …
INNER CHILD:   You gotta admit, that’s rather retarded.
ME:   Shut up.
INNER CHILD:   Old geezer.

DON’T MISS:  Horror in Your Phone: 'SIM - Sara is Missing' Review