I’m less than a month away from my 33rd birthday. No, seriously, I’m going to be 33, and here I am in a dead end writing job, rummaging through the couch cushions to pay for a gallon of gas, and constantly trying to dodge another sexually explicit motivational speech on “advancing my career” from Heave’s very own Culture Editor, Ryan Peters, (fool me once Ryan Peters). This isn’t exactly how I thought my life would look in my thirties, and it might be the exact reason I’m terminally disgruntled.
To be completely honest, the closer I get to the big 4-0 the more I worry about entering 1 of the 6 phases old people go through. Most of you will inevitably hate me and yourself before you read to the end. Sorry, but life sucks, and living it a long time sucks hard. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to smother me with a pillow in my sleep at the first sign of ANY of these phases. Deal?
It’s like shooting fish in a barrel.
Phase 1: Ponytail Party Guy
Listens to: Willow Smith-Whip My Hair
Ponytail Party Guy’s creepy exterior is only the husk that covers a seriously seedier interior. This fucking loser is EVERYWHERE! Wherever there is a throng of booty shaking, sexually frustrated, sweaty, young barely covered flesh, he will be there attempting a dry hump assault. PPG doesn’t care that he is overweight, slightly graying, and harry as fuck all. He has a pony tail and an ear ring and he isn’t going to let that go to waste.
Phase 2: The Know-it-All
Listens to: Simon and Garfunkel-“Sound of Silence”
I can’t put up with an old dickwad like this for more than two minutes. This guy values his own thoughts and opinions so much that he will insist that you take his advice no matter how mundane the task, like how to hunch when you drop a grumpy. This is something I’m pretty sure you have mastered by now. If not, you probably might want to go read Pitchfork instead. Anyway, I’m frightened most of becoming this guy. More than once I’ve caught myself acting like this. Just do me a favor, and keep that pillow handy.
All the pics in this article are of white people? Hmmm…
Phase 3: The Subconscious Bigot
Listens to: Creed-“One Last Breath”
You already know this jerkoff. He is the guy that will do a quick shoulder check, and whisper a racist joke as soon as he feels comfortable that “one of them” isn’t within earshot. Assholes like this make we want to colonize the moon. The idea that an individual’s self worth could be based on the actions of an entire group of people is absolutely ridiculous. That being said, I much prefer racism to be worn on the sleeve, that way I can avoid getting trapped in a conversation “bout them beaners”. The subconscious bigot will lock their car doors when they drive into an ethnically diverse neighborhood, cross the street as soon as they see someone of a different color, or tries to change their name when someone in their family “comes out”. Look, contrary to what is said on the news (which any subconscious bigot knows is ran by the Jews) there is a pretty amazing chance that you will never be a casualty of a gang war or the homosexual agenda. If by some crazy chance of fate you are, it’s most likely because you were willing to sell your mouth for an 8ball of coke.
He’s oozing more than charisma.
Phase 4: The Sleezeball
Listens to: LL Cool J-“Hey Lover”
The sleezeball is the natural evolution of pony tail party guy. He has lost the energy to actually venture out to dance clubs and slip roofie’s to overly inebriated 20 some-things. Instead, you will find him lurking in strip clubs or massage parlors. His come-on lines are relentlessly designed to prey on the daddy issues of his unsuspecting victims. And it works too! The sleezeball sees more yearly action than every Ivy League fraternity…combined. So guys, just remember, next time you have to choose between going to that big game and seeing your daughter’s dance recital…ask yourself…how many track suit covered boners do you want pressed against your daughter’s butt cheeks?
You say you’ve never had a catheter?
Phase 5: Hurts to Pee
Listens to: Frank Sinatra-“That’s Life”
One time, not to long ago, I had a catheter. You know, to collect my pee. For about two days after the removal of said catheter, releasing a single drop of urine felt like a thousand Smurfs wearing jetpacks and hats made of thumb tacks bursting from my urethra. For the love of god, I can’t imagine living a life where this kind of pain is a daily occurrence. The day my potty break starts to mimic the sounds of a thirteen year old boy getting pwned in Call of Duty, I will be ready to call it quits. Honest engine.
Phase 6: Completely Senile
Listens to: “The Benny Hill Theme”
At this point in life what are we really hanging onto here? I mean, are our loved ones so selfish that they need to keep our empty soulless shells around to fill some nostalgic hole in their heart? Not one of us wake up in the morning thinking, god, I really want to reach a point in my life where I forget that shitting in my pants is socially taboo. Our intention of building genuine loving and caring relationships with our friends and family isn’t in hopes of completely forgetting their names and faces. No, living in complete senility is not our intention. It goes against nature. Sure, we are all about teaching Darwinist theories in public schools, but everyone wants to leave out “natural selection” when it comes to humans. I say, when the time comes that I forget simple tasks like tying my shoes, and reciting the fucking alphabet, you should encircle me like a pack of ravenous wolves, each taking turns trying to rip my throat out until I finally collapse to the floor and bleed to death. That would be a much more dignified death.
I realize that death is a hard subject to talk about, but getting old and death go hand in hand. And, I’m not saying that we should whack every old fucker on the head with a mallet because it sucks to be old, but maybe we should be open to the idea of making it easier and more comfortable for people to have a painless and dignified death when they reach a point in life that their rational self would be horrified to live.