The Dirty Thirty

There are certain milestones in everyone’s life.   We attach a special significance to certain birthdays.

The 1st birthday is more about the parents than the kids.  Generally they’re still happy to discover they have feet at that point.   Your 13th birthday is  proof that you’re growing up. You’re a teen now.  Woo. Hoo.   Sweet 16 is about freedom. You can drive now.  You can leave the nest, making it much easier to have sloppy, drunken teen sex.   18 is graduation and 21 is the official age of adulthood and drinking… even though you’ve probably been at it for about 8 years at that point.

But all of that pales in comparison to the dreaded, dirty 30.

The Dirty Thirty takes you from the wonderous state of adulthood of 21 having one foot in the grave.  Suddenly you’re 3-0.  You’re old!  You’re dying! And whereas in previous years people celebrated your birth, when it comes to 30 they spend an entire year laughing at you and asking stupid questions like

Sooooo…   THIRTY, huh?  That’s rough.  How you feel about that?

Really?  How do I feel about it?   I’ll tell you how I feel.   I don’t give a shit.   Yeah, in a month I’ll be 3 decades old.    But I’ll only be one day closer to death than I was the day before.

Besides, for all that age robs of you in time, the one thing it provides is burdgeoning fearlessness.   Youth is for the birds, you see.  But I am the finest of wines; I only get better with age.

Mine will be the dirtiest of thirties.  I plan to engage in a level of debauchery that can only be defined as a travesty.  30 shall be my year of recknoning and wreckage.    Villages, prepare to be raped!  Women, get ready to be plundered!  Boats will sink!   Cities will raze to the ground!  Children will shit their pants!

It should be quite a decade.

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One response to this post.

  1. You guys are awesome 🙂 keep up the good work.

    Reply

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