Sometime in the next twenty-four hours, depending on which time zone you are currently in (I recommend a southern hemisphere one in existing conditions), I am going to do something quite disgusting, something really gross, unscrupulous and filthy, the kind of thing a depraved crack head would do to lick a stomped on crack rock off a urine soaked sidewalk. Just really despicable, contemptible, and repulsive to the level of ghastly, the kind of thing that would make even three week old road kill throw up.
Yep, I am going to turn 37. Oh Holy Hell.
I have no idea how this happened, I have no idea who to blame, I am sure someone out there is laughing maniacally at my pain, my shame and (Crane? – No. Brain? –no. Haim? – no. Game? No. Sane? – no, wait, ooh ohh ooh) and saying jokes like ‘get a cane’ (ha ha, rhyme sought, rhyme nailed) – but it’s not funny assholes.
I am not however going to dwell on this horror right now; there is nothing for me to gain (keep it rolling rhyme king). 36 was anything but tame, in fact at times it was quite insane, and there is no one to blame, but at times it was lame, um, um, and I figured I may as well talk about the ups and the drains? (Ok, after a series of genius rhymes that was just pathetic, for shame – ohh wait, I’m back!)
The truth is my year aged 36 had some of my lowest lows of all time. Low like falling in a well, and then digging a deep hole, and then needing to pee and realizing ‘oh I’m sitting in the only possible toilet’. But in this very same year I had some of my highest highs. High like collecting many, many helium balloons and tying string to them and floating up into the sky, and then lighting my shirt on fire creating heat which made me fly even higher, and then needing to pee and realizing ‘oh the whole world is my toilet now bitch!’
Now, as a very famous person, I am sure that you’ve all already read about all the major and obvious ups and downs of my past year in the tabloids, I don’t read that crap myself, but I assume they have at least hit the obvious high and low points. So here I will let you guys, my readers, my fans, exclusively in on the lesser known highs and lows of the year that I was 36:
Low – Being told that only around 18% of the population routinely labeled me ‘omnipotent’.
High – Learning the meaning of the word ‘omnipotent’.
High – Discovering a brand new planet right here in our very own solar system!
Low – Being told that apparently ‘Mars’ was ‘already’ discovered.
Low – Catching lots of colds for some reason.
High – Curating my first exhibition of awesome influenza art.
High – Completing a total of seventeen challenges related to the omnipresent influence of our lord and savior the honorable ‘Goat King of the Western Institute of the Honor Cabinet in Bargain String Episodes’ and advancing to the ranking of ‘Curd Flock’.
Low – When our lord and savior the honorable ‘Goat King of the Western Institute of the Honor Cabinet in Bargain String Episodes’ was arrested for running some sort of a ‘cult’ – it was bullshit too, there is no way he had time to run a cult, he was ALWAYS on the compound with us. Fucking cops.
Low – Getting a job as a Gondola captain and being laughed at for the stripy shirt, which was a little harsh seeing as I chose to go pantless in an attempt to make people laugh.
High – Nearly getting into a fight but having it end when I said ‘don’t get shirty with me’ and making the guy laugh instead of punch me. Ha ha, I just came up with that on the spot too – ‘don’t get shirty’, brilliant. Feel free to use it to stop your next fight.
High – Learning I have been given the gift of generosity in gift giving.
Low – Discovering my life has not yet been green lit for a sequel, apparently the studio is still waiting to find out ‘foreign box office’. Come on guys, sometimes it’s about quality not box office!
Low – Being ‘Shhhhd’ by a gourmet chef at an outdoor box-collecting extravaganza right as I was about to brilliantly collect my fourth box, completely extinguishing the joy from my amazing achievement.
High – Re-coining ‘Siamese twins’ as ‘symmetry stuck togethers’.
High – receiving unanimous unadulterated praise for my underarm sausage frying technique.
Low – Getting chosen only third in a spontaneous urban tractor tracing competition.
Low – Being told that if I ever lose both of my testicles in a severe letter opener accident, and choose to replace them with fake balls made out of bells then I may jingle when I walk.
High – barely even losing a part of even one testicle.
High – The continued success of my ‘rules of summer for alpha seagulls - a program to make sure everyone gull gets a French fry’ program.
Low – Except in Cape Town South Africa, those alpha gulls are selfish pricks.
Low – Estimating the dilapidation of the farcical mean operational excellence quotient of grenadine gyration opulence, but getting it wrong by a margin of 0.34564567%
High – Eating a donut.
Man what a year. Some deep down lows, like falling off a cliff and landing on the ground badly breaking both legs and needing to pee, only to discover that peeing on two badly broken legs doesn’t alleviate the pain at all. But some super up highs, like climbing a cliff and not falling off and needing to pee and discovering an anthill to pee in the hole of.
So here is to a great year of being 37, I don’t know what’s going to happen, I just hope it’s not as god damn bland as last year.