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.
