23? What 23? WHAT? FUCK! MUSTARD! FLEECE!

So I'm crashing Mr. Lee's 21st birthday party last night in my local drinkery, and I'm trying to explain the phenomenon of 21ness to an underaged undergrad. I'm like, "...see once you're 21, the fun of drinking and partying goes away, because now you're somehow a real adult and can't act in extreme or debaucherous ways because that's shady, whereas a month before your birthday it was expected. Culpability my dear Wattson." And she's like "ReeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!" and then I turned down my hearing aid.

Anywho, she's like "how old are you, Dr. S?" and I'm like "Twenty-wuh..-two.--three?! I'm twenty-three!? AH! FUCK! FUCKSHIT! AHHHMYGOD WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?! N-NOOO! NO! NO! AARRR! nuh-gaaaah. NO! AHFUCK! SHITTYSHITPASTE!" - my exact words. So old. Now I know that some of you out there, maybe even two of you, are older than 23. But still. The thing is that at this age you gotta start becoming a productive member of society. There are certain expectations placed upon an adult. And more importantly, you can't hang around with the youngsters anymore because now you're an old weirdun who should be at home working on his taxes or making a business trip. This is the beginning of the death of wackiness. No more peeing on Doane (not that I ever did or would - performance anxiety you understand). I don't want to grow up is the summation of this article. I demand that Peter Pan come visit me and save me from the march of time and responsibility. FOO!

Margle McGonkle