August 16, 2013

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Have you ever seen a twenty-five-year-old drive a V8 truck? They need at least four feet of clearance on either side, and they act as if getting on the highway would be like driving off a cliff. These guys use the stalls to pee instead of urinals because they”€™re scared someone might see their ding-dong. They wear underwear under their bathing suits, mumble when spoken to, and ask the guy at the gardening center to load the bags for them.

Though grass is a hardy weed, it takes about three years to get a good, strong, green, thick lawn going that is relatively free of crabgrass, clover, and moss. You have to keep it watered throughout the summer, cut it regularly, patch the holes, and occasionally transplant a patch of healthy grass over to a troubled area (a technique I call “€œFrankenlawn”€). Every fall requires plenty of fertilizer and if you”€™re in an area with a lot of pines like I am, you had better bombard the area with lime. See? This isn”€™t simply some earth carpet that magically appeared. It’s millions of individual plants that when combined make up an organic carpet. When you turn your car around on it or leave a blanket in one spot for a long time, you kill my babies. And when you kill my babies, I kill you.

Every time you get mad at a kid for wasting money, he points out how small the amount he wasted is. We”€™re not talking about this one time, you buffoon. We”€™re talking about your attitude. It’s the same attitude that leaves lottery winners bankrupt five years after their winnings and NBA players deep in debt almost immediately after retirement. Keeping the doors closed while the heat or AC is on is a way of showing respect to the person who created this temperature-controlled environment in the first place. To sit there playing the banjo while my money burns is enough to make me completely lose it.

The biggest nerd from my childhood would be like Lemmy today. My God, they”€™ve barely tried cocaine. Every time I have a twenty-something working for me and we have to go get lunch or run an errand, I ask them what’s going on and they shrug the way a dog would if it could talk. When I was a kid, I had a million questions for old guys and the first one was always, “€œCan you get me beer?”€ Today they”€™re more interested in social media than socializing and have absolutely no interest in an old guy who’s tried everything and could impart mountains of knowledge.

They are at the aesthetic peak of their lives, yet they dress like they found their clothes in the garbage. UGG boots and sweatpants with a shirt that’s either way too small or way too big is formal wear. They don”€™t even look in the mirror and yet they keep getting laid. Too laid. They”€™re sick of it. When women think about having sex with me, they either dry-heave or burst out laughing. I don”€™t blame them. Every time I see a picture of myself, I wonder why my dad is wearing my clothes”€”clothes that I spent a fortune on merely to not look homeless.

I”€™d love to party like these kids but I can”€™t. I didn”€™t quit drugs. They quit me. I can barely handle six beers. They can drink all night and by noon, their hangover vanishes like so much dust in the wind. Youth isn”€™t just wasted on the young; getting wasted is wasted on the young. They”€™re healthy and beautiful with no responsibilities, and I”€™m old and weak and up to my ass in bullshit. God, I hate them and their wonderful lives.



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