Last month, I turned 30.
I normally spend my birthday hiding from the world, dreading another year gained and with me slowly speeding toward being yet another old man clinging on to his youth, wearing hipster clothes, growing a ponytail, and going to gigs with people who are more than half my age. This year was no different.
I STILL LOOK FABULOUS, FUCK YOU.
Nothing says mature more than me updating a blog I started seven years ago and filling it up with dick jokes like I’m 23. But seriously though, things like growing old is a pain in the ass and a tough pill to swallow. I might as well avoid a long and hard discussion on the perils of buggering my content with dick jokes.
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).
I honestly don’t want to write about the Eraserheads because, well, everyone else is blogging about it now and I don’t know what else to add to the babble. I don’t want to write a blow-by-blow account of the concert, or even a recollection of my favorite moments. I shan’t bore you with that. But still, even though it’s been a day after the concert, I’m still on a high and I’m typing away this entry even if I can barely keep my eyes open.
I’m not the biggest Eraserheads fan around. I know of a hundred people who can claim that they are the biggest fan. I only have Cutterpillow and Fruitcake (plus the book) in my collection. Like so many people, I thought they jumped the shark when Sticker Happy came out. I’ve never seen them perform live.
But if you’re a kid growing up in the 90′s, they’re inescapable. I was able to get a copy of Circus recently and I was amazed to discover that I know every track by heart, thanks to my class adviser who played the album in an endless loop every single day of my 5th grade life. Continue reading
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As most of you know, I love food. You know, you can take one glance at my humongous frame and you’d probably conclude that I love food. Also, the five chilidogs I have in my mouth would be a pretty good giveaway. In fact, I love food so much I could probably name a few (twenty) sexual deviations involving food that I
probably have don’t have.
Who would’ve thought that my love for food would actually be a social impediment?
I was eating in KFC with Wits and Baddie, stuffing our faces as usual with chicken and discussing the merits of KY Jelly when applied to financial situations in the context of the current global economic meltdown. Don’t ask.
So we soon realized that we ran out of gravy. And somehow there was only one gravy thermos in a floor of around fifty gravy-eating customers. Fifty murderous gravy-eating customers who are desperate for it. Continue reading
Lunchtime was just about over, and hordes of office drones are rushing to the elevator to get back to work (and by “work” I mean “surfing Friendster all day, looking for hot chicks to stalk”). People just want to go back and
stalk that hot half-naked chick who looks like she’s been in a scandal which they saw on iyottube.com work. Elevators are sometimes amazingly slow. Oh wait, I mean “all the time.” Tempers are rising as people impatiently tap their feet on the ground floor.
After a long and excruciating wait, an elevator opens, and everyone is stoked to see only one guy inside. The twenty people who have been waiting for an elevator quickly move in.
This pretty much happened
Somehow, nobody realized that the sole person inside the lift is an asshole. Continue reading
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