It has come to my attention that another imminent birthday is looming over my head like a guillotine. But I am not a cake-eating Marie-Antoinette, I am a fit and humble man. Take a moment for the resounding irony to hit. *Splatter*
My greatest fear is to become a victim of ageism, like Michael Scott. Perhaps I will need to revolutionize my wardrobe, style, tastes, and language to avoid this form of hate-crime against the aged. Here are a few examples to colour in my agedness:
1. I do not comprehend text messaging; I have only performed this progressive communicationary technique twice -- and this was under the supervision of a teenager.
2. I nearly have a scheduled napper time to rest my decrepit body.
3. Nearly all the tunes I listen to are as soft as lullabies.
4. My feet are incessantly cold.
5. My memory lapses more frequently than the Maple Leafs.
6. I spray the children with the hose when they trespass on my verdant lawn.
Enough! I cannot continue on any further... Funny thing is: I don't even know what to do with my life.
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4 comments:
Wilco! If you visit me in America and you can consume alcohol and I can laugh at you.
i have an antedote for your early-old-age issues:
M. WARD - TRANSFIGURATION OF VINCENT
Yass, perhaps if I hold-up a whiskey wagon near your ranch.
Yass, perhaps someday I'll listen to M. Ward.
dude i was slow to jump on the ward wagon..coz i didn't really diggity dig his new digs... but the old stuff is like fine wine.
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