Reflections on an old fart in training.

Well its finally happened. No apocalypse or nervous breakdown or major earthly upheaval(all of which I was kinda looking forward to in my perversion), just a passing date on the calendar and I make the not-so abrupt transition from whipper-snapper to old fart. The 20 year old dipshit that we just hired told me that he would have to start calling me "sir", but I quickly divested him of that notion by providing a sampler of the names that I would be glad to assign to him in return (I also mentioned that he shouldn't trust anyone over 30, but I don't think he bought it). Funny, doesn't seem like that long since I was a 20 year old dipshit; guess I'll have to settle for being a 30 year old dipshit. I figure thats not such a bad deal though, men in my family have a tendency to die young so this is almost an achievement (my great grandfather died at 42, and all my grandparents were dead by the time I turned 15). The most important thing about today, however, is that it is my thursday, which means that tomorrow is my friday (and my payday), and I haven't been drunk in a good long while


If life really is a race I'm half way to the finish line, not bad for a guy who doesn't like to run eh?

Up the Rebels!!!