It is officially the fifty-second week of my thirty-fourth year. I am now somewhat older than Jesus and am no closer to comprehending my life’s mission than I am to completing that life’s work on this Earth.
I have learned a thing or two over the past year, most of which can be summed up in the three most meaningful words even uttered:
Drink More Beer.
That, my friends, is a philosophy. Words to live by. It means have more fun. It means relax. It means laugh in the face of frowning publicans while vomiting on their shoes. It means, “I’m not going to live by their rules any more.”
We all are blessed or cursed – depending on your point of view – with a hideously short time upon this hurtling rock; most of which isn’t much fun. What we do with our time ought to be completely up to us, not determined by parents and teachers, friends and neighbors.
I have decided the entire human race can take a flying leap into the shallow end of the gene pool. I’ve bloody well had enough. I am not going to scrimp and save, slave and toil, boil and bubble to make a decent life for the next generation. Bugger the next generation. Hell, there is no next generation. Just me and the time I’ve got left. I intend to have a good time and die with a grin on my face and both middle fingers rigor mortised into an eternal salute.
Jefferson and I agree on one thing: “. . . I have sworn upon the altar of God, eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man.”
One Response to Berfday!