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Ep 301: Church Punk


“I should write a parenting book, I hate kids.”

The older I get, the more I start to have massive, blinding realizations about things. Some more obvious than others, always ending up bringing a cheeky grin to my sad weathered face. The latest of these is the whole 21st birthday thing. Probably because just last night we were out celebrating our friend’s 21st birthday. Having a younger brother, and sharing friends with him has given me insight into a couple of younger generations’ thought processes. When I turned 21, I took a little over 21 bong hits, had some friends over, and we all hung out. I never went out drinking to excess or anything like that. If you listen to the show, you’ll know that in my younger years, I never acquired the taste for alcohol. This saved me many MIP’s / DUI’s that people I was hanging out with ended up getting. I think I was too preoccupied with drugs that produced way better and more mind blowing effects and hallucinations than just making ugly chicks look fuckable, or making me feel like I was tougher than reality allowed me to be. It always seems funny to me that when people turn 21, they feel the need to get drunk to the point of near alcohol poisoning, like it’s some new flavor of Kool-Aid they have never tried before, and instead of sugar, it’s filled with meth and cocaine. It’s not like they’ve never had alcohol before, although I’m sure that is the case for some. But in most cases, it’s the first taste of the freedom of being allowed to sit in a bar and get wasted with all the other people who have seemingly given up on life. It’s like a glance into the future. All this misery and more could be yours if you keep on being a raging alcoholic. It almost seems like having a 21 year old drinking age does more harm than good. If kids were allowed to drink like they are in Europe, turning 21 wouldn’t have such an allure to it. It wouldn’t be a tradition to go out and get blackout drunk, it’d be just another birthday. Another year older. It also cracks me up that when you turn 40 or 50, you really start to regret all of the bad things you’ve done to your body in the name of blowing your mind and fucking ugly chicks. Your liver is pretty well done, kidneys done, brain barely able to keep the body in working order, penis sad as fuck. It makes you wonder if that blackout binge when you turned 21 was a good thing, or the reason you are now 53 years old, and dying of liver failure. Oh well, I’m sure by the time these generations make it to 40 or 50, we’ll have replaced failing organs, if not the whole body, with robotic surrogates, so it doesn’t really matter. Personally? I’ll leave the body behind, and live the rest of my days out roaming the ever expanding vastness of the internet. Happy birthday David!

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