Warning. Offensive material ahead. Stop reading now.
31 years old.
I think, given various accounts of the afterlife, people appear in their 30’s after death because this really is the prime time of life. I’m old enough to have a deep well of knowledge to ponder in even the boringest of moments, I’m well on my way to deciding what I want to be when I grow up, and I’m not -as a rule- worried about the little things in life. No, not the little things that make life worth living, like the smell of rain or freshly brushed teeth, but the little niggling things that kids stress over; girls (or boys, whatever you’re into), fashion, sports, popularity… I guess to some extent we never completely outgrow these concerns, but they’re gently replaced with other concerns… like dying, loneliness, bankruptcy, diabetes, heart disease, and being abducted by aliens with butt fetishes.
Another great thing about getting older is that I’ve heard SO much great music. I honestly feel sorry for younger kids that haven’t experienced as much music as I have. I know they eventually will, but I’m sure they don’t realize how great of an impact it can or will have on their lives. Like Nine Inch Nail’s “Closer?” Who would’ve thought that fucking someone like an animal was appropriate? I had to fuck SO many animals to get it right for the first human I tried it on. Since I’m big into ethics, I didn’t feel it would have been right to try it on a live human being until I had perfected my method on cadavers first. The first live human I fucked like an animal wondered why my dick smelled like formaldehide. I couldn’t give him a good answer. I’m not a scientist.
So yea; back to baby rape. If you’ve ever had a baby force himself upon you, there are support groups. Any form of unwanted contact is technically rape (according to the Army) so you can charge the little bastard with a felony before it learns to walk. That’ll teach it to spit up on your shoulder…
Ah; where was I? Oh yes: getting older. I recently had a patient (I’m a well-known euthanasia doctor, in case you didn’t know) who was completely out of his mind. A small part of me felt sorry for him; brain tumor eating him alive and all – but another part of me was super jealous! I am unbelievably curious as to what his train of thought must be like from his perspective. It was like he was on an acid trip and me and all his other caregivers were mere apparitions in his hallucinations. I can’t imagine how awesome that must be- especially since he has no other co-morbidities (that means “other diseases,” for those of you in Rio Linda) so he isn’t afflicted with severely painful ailments that could otherwise ‘harsh his mellow.’ Basically he’s just a tripping-balls-ass big baby.
That’s why I look forward to getting old- like REALLY old – like… 50! You can’t grow a little deathly brain tumor like that in only 31 years (unless you’re one of those lucky little bastards that dies of brain cancer at age 8). I can’t wait to lay there helplessly tripping-ass-balls-dick out of my gourde, pissing everywhere; shitting everywhere; not a care in the world except the ghosts of 20-year-old memories that dance around me 24/7 (or 3 & 3/7 for those of you in Rio Linda) with the occasional modernly-dressed nurse walking in to feed me happy pills at routine intervals. Please: No one re-orient me.