Adulthood is Overrated. I Want My Money Back. (Obligatory Birthday Post)
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Today, I’m 26. I’m seriously beginning to dread this one number added to my age every year, and for good reason. I’m now entering this stage in life that people lovingly refer to as “late 20’s.” I hate that. It’s like I should look at these other 20 year-olds and be this guy who’s pensive and shit and guide everyone through this hazardous wasteland called “the 20’s.” No, seriously. I can imagine myself smoking a pipe as I dispense advice to confused twenty-somethings about life, love, taxes, and the dangers of smoking.
But here’s the kicker: I am in no position to give advice to anybody. I should be happy, successful, and all that shit by this time, but as you can see, I log on to my interweblog thing every week to post dick jokes, which you people devour with such ferocity I sometimes wonder if anyone of you guys will devour my actual, physical dick with the same fervor. (to be perfectly clear, I was talking to my female readers. The hot ones who’d willingly get into bed with me without the aid of date rape drugs.)
Bah. This isn’t really the easiest thing to deal with, if you ask me. You know the feeling when you wake up, you realize that you’ve fucked up majorly and there’s probably no way to fix your life? Yeaaah, that’s the feeling I get every morning. Really not the happiest thing, if you ask me.
The strange thing about adulthood is that it’s when all these real-world problems come crashing on you. And in most cases, you’re not ready to deal with them, and nobody’s there to bail you out. It’s so fucking overrated. I oughta find the guy who told me that adulthood is probably the most awesome thing that’ll happen to me, second only to growing pubic hair (that also didn’t turn out too well, by the way).
