Dirty Thirty

I am officially a dirty old man…as of a month ago.

Leaving my 20’s behind was not a traumatic experience. Just another day. I intentionally neglected to tell anyone my birthday was coming up, like I always do, so that a big deal was not made. Mission accomplished. I don’t understand huge productions for birthdays. I’d much rather avoid the spotlight and unnecessary attention. Birthdays are not that big of a deal. Everybody was born, big whoop. After meeting many of the people I have, that is no reason to celebrate. In fact, it’s only a reason for sorrow and gloom. Celebrating their departure from this life seems a much better reason to party.

As much as I write about hoping people spontaneously die for reasons CSI can’t explain or don’t want to because they’re too gruesome, I’m not serious. I just verbalize what most other people think, albeit in more vivid detail. If you disagree, I invite you to come get a face full of piss. Actually I don’t want to discriminate; I invite you all to come get a face full of piss. Come one, come all! Step right up! Free piss in the face. You think you look good now, wait till you see your face dripping with piss. [whistle]

Now that I have appropriately earned the title of dirty old man, it’s only gonna get worse. Beware.