The World’s Worst Adult Gets All Serious and Sh*t [California Seething]
Just because I hate all of the things that stupid young people like, you might think I make a pretty good Adult. Well first of all, let me set the record straight, I don’t actually hate all the things that stupid young people like. I mean, hello? Gangnam Style? I love that song HEYYYYY, SEXY LADY! Something something something YOJA something something OPPAN GANGNAM STYLE! I mean, come on, I’m not made of stone. Never before has one video made fake horseback riding and being Korean look SO FUCKING COOL. It’s the best dance craze ever to be inspired by Monty Python and the Holy Grail. I’m surprised that Psy doesn’t have go-go dancers in pink suits of armor banging coconuts together behind him. No, seriously- I’m REALLY surprised by that- I mean, considering everything else in the video- this is where he shows restraint?? It’s like: random, homoerotic sauna bit with fat guy and tattooed musceley guy- yup, Nation of Islam level bow-tie fixation- you got it, Psy with his pants down on the toilet rappin’ while he’s crappin’- hells yeah, girls in pink armor banging coconuts- whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa- easy there- let’s not go nuts here- that’s over the DMZ if you know what I’m saying. Still- it’s impossible to hate this song. Think of all the painfully dull wedding receptions this song has saved by bringing the bride’s bitchy high school friends and groom’s snarky co-workers together into a joyous pile of sweaty kim-chi on the dance floor. Think of the thousands of Bar Mitzvah boys, for whom this song will forever evoke memories of dance parties in synagogue social halls and their first cherry flavored lip-gloss kiss with the too-tall girl in the poofy dress who was lingering in the corner like a sullen baby giraffe in a flower pot until the DJ spun this magical tune and suddenly, you were dancing side by side, cheeks flushed, surrounded by rows of middle schoolers in ill fitting formal wear lurching to the music like chipmunk voiced extras in the Walking Dead. Hormones liberated and inhibitions reduced by the experience of dancing together, you escaped from the party together and snuck into the darkened kindergarten classroom. There, among the tiny desks and construction paper cut-out Etrogs, after an awkward giggly moment of figuring out the correct angle to bring your heads together without bumping noses, you mashed lips together and drooled sloppily into her mouth like a Saint Bernard performing mouth to mouth on a skier while pawing her dress in hopes of locating an underdeveloped boob deep below the flowery fabric like Indiana Jones searching for buried treasure beneath the surface of the earth. Man, kids today are lucky. All we had was the “Electric Slide”. Oh well, at least I wasn’t one of the poor suckers in the 90’s whose pre-teen memories are forever linked with the “Macarena” or “Mambo Number 5″ (shudder). No Sir. A little bit of Monica is NOT what we need- thank you very much.
Anyhow, even though I hate most of the things that young people like HEYYYYY, SEXY LADY! Sorry, it’s just so hard to resist OPPAN GANGNAM STYLE! goddamn, that’s catchy- Kim Jong Un may have the nukes but Psy’s the one taking over the world- Ann Romney’s gonna buy an invisible horse! Anyhow, even though I hate most of the things that stupid young people like, I’m not a good adult. Good adults read books about economics- for fun. They tuck in their shirts. They wear khakis- on the weekend! They eat bran cereal, swim laps, take the stairs, use “free radicals” in a sentence that has nothing to do with political prisoners, watch CNBC, listen to NPR, play golf, say “take care” when they mean “fuck off”, passionately argue about their favorite brand of weed killer, fret about their portfolios, build decks, have jobs with math, coach T-Ball, buy a Corolla, Rav 4, Odyssey and Guilt Prius- in that order, and make frowny face speeches about the importance of supporting candidates who believe in Fiscal Responsibility in lieu of actually practicing it themselves. I’ve heard that there are some particularly Good Adults who actually wear suits to work. Can you imagine? If I’m gonna put on black socks then somebody better be dead. I’ve carefully structured my life to wear jeans everyday, the same pair of jeans in fact. Hell, the belt is already in there, so I get to sleep five more minutes- ten if I leave my keys in the pocket, it’s brilliant! When it comes to fashion- I’m like a sailor in the 1800’s- fiercely loyal to the Old Navy. Old Navy clothes are perfect for me- they’re cheap, loose fitting and because I already know the quality is shit, I can order them online and not be disappointed by how they look when they arrive – it’s like Match.com for t-shirts and jeans. OK, let keep it real, my wife actually buys my clothes online. If it wasn’t for her, I’d be wearing a burlap sack and a rope. Of course, then I’d have to figure out where to order a burlap sack and a rope online. Do you think they sell those at Old Navy? And, if so, which washed up 80’s celebrities could they get to do the ads? Judd Nelson & Molly Ringwald- “Hey, kids- join the BURLAP Club. Just $10.99 at Old Navy”
The thing is, Good Adults spend 5 days a week doing boring, soul sucking, meaningless shit. And then, just for fun, they do some more on the weekend. I mean- have you ever actually played golf? I’m not talking about the good kind with the windmills and the kooky angles where you hit the ball in the clown’s mouth on the 18th hole and then go to DQ for Blizzards with your divorced dad and new “mommy”. I’m talking about golf-golf. I’m talking about waking up early and schlepping a heavy bag in the burning sun and stopping occasionally to perform a very precise task badly. Seriously- that’s worse than my job. Sure, I have to wake up early and schlep a heavy laptop bag while I walk to work in 90 degree weather, but at least I don’t have to try and hit a fucking golf ball when I get there- the worst thing I have do is work in Excel, and I’ll take Pivot Tables over putting any day of the week- even on Saturday. Plus, let’s keep it real- I don’t need to wake up that early for work- my wallet is already in my jeans!
And here’s what’s really crazy- golf is actually one of the FUNNEST things that Good Adults can think of doing with their time- it’s actually treated like some kind of reward. And because Good Adults have absolutely no sense of what “fun” really is, they don’t realize how pathetic that is- like kids who are raised by Whole Foods Moms and don’t get sugar and so they think baby carrots and frozen pea popsicles are some kind of whoop-di-doo big fucking treat (parents who give frozen pea popsicles ought to be reported to social services. And if Prop 37 passes they will be! Better read the fine print before you vote, Whole Foods Moms. #foiledagainwholefoodsmoms #monsantoalwayswins)
It’s no wonder that Good Adults think of golf as a reward when you look at all the other terrible shit they have to do like get colonoscopies and do yardwork. Personally, I prefer colonoscopies to yardwork- a scope up the ass beats cutting grass! Actually, that’s my campaign slogan for 2016. I’m running it by my exploratory committee today. My exploratory committee consists of three teddy bears and the possum I found in my yard. Possum just keeps telling me to play dead and then come back suddenly. He cut his teeth on the Perot campaign. Oh crap. It’s 2012 and I made a Perot joke. I think I just lost all my street cred at once. Yup. There is goes with a giant sucking sound. And speaking of giant sucking sounds, everything that Good Adults do pretty much sucks (segue, bitchez!) And so the reason that I don’t make a very Good Adult is that I have a very low tolerance for things that suck. I think it’s because I still haven’t forgotten what “fun” is supposed to feel like. I mean, why would I want to argue about weed-killer, when I could lovingly reminisce about killer weed. Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with responsibility- I’ve got loads of responsibilities, hell I’ve got responsibilities at work coming out the yin-yang (I’m on the Yin Yang Governance and Risk Committee) but I never got the knack for doing boring, soul-sucking, meaningless shit in my free time. Like getting haircuts- seriously if I wanted to be trapped in a chair for an indefinite period of time while somebody fusses over me and asks intrusive questions I’d have dinner with my parents or go to Guantanamo Bay. So I wait until my beard goes from “Dan Fouts” to “James Harden” to “wanna read my manifesto? It’s written in crayon!” and until my hair gets just long enough to paradoxically show how bald I am (Mick Fleetwood syndrome) and then I go to the barber shop where the guy speaks no English. Sure, I have absolutely no idea what kind of hair cut I’m going to get, but he shuts the fuck up, so it’s totally worth it.
OK, so I think we’ve established that I’m a crappy adult. I suck at grooming, fashion, yard-work, and golf. The closest I get to doing cardio is screaming at Time Warner on the phone (PERSON PERSON PERSON PERSON PERSON PERSON PERSON PERSON PERSON PERSON PERSON PERSON PERSON PERSON PERSON PERSON PERSON PERSON PERSON PERSON PERSON PERSON!!!!!), I’m physically incapable of eating fruit without whipped cream- in fact, my dietary habits have been known to wake Whole Foods Moms up in the middle of the night screaming and rushing to update their profile pics to “Yes on 37” (what’s wrong with eel genes in salmon, anyhow? Why you gotta be racist, Whole Foods Moms? What if the eel and salmon truly love each other? I mean- isn’t this what made America great? You say GMO – I say Melting Pot! #monsantogottome #nofrozedpeapopsicleformeiguess) So why the hell would I, of all people, do one of the most boring, soul-sucking, adult things of all and join my HOA Board? This was exactly the question I was pondering while I was pouring over HOA financial statements and answering the 30,000th email about which trees to remove in the parking lot on a Saturday morning- the kind of morning that’s just screaming to be spent eating waffles and drinking mimosas- or, better yet, sleeping. Why had I subjected myself to the abject Adult misery of “assessments” (the technical term for dues paid by members to the HOA), “equity” (the technical term for the money accumulated in excess of monthly HOA expenses) and “assholes”? (the technical term for my neighbors. Well, ok, at least who don’t pay their goddamn “assessments” but still fucking whine about everything. “Douchebags” is also acceptable.) Is it because I’m a power mad lunatic? Because I secretly geek out on sending meetings and agendas and minutes? (It’s true. It’s my secret addiction. There’s an intervention scheduled next week. I can forward you the Outlook or just send the minutes after) Or is it just because, well, somebody had to do it and I didn’t want to live in a place that sucks because no one gives a shit. Anyhow, for whatever reason, I stepped up- and while I’ve only been on the Board a short while, I’ve already learned two really valuable lessons:
- There’s a certain smug, self-satisfaction that goes along with doing something unpleasant for the greater good. It’s like a drug! Who needs killer weed when you’ve got Adult Self Righteousness? Seriously, this puts the “high” in “getting up on my high horse”. No wonder the Dalai Lama is always smiling. Not that I’m comparing myself to the Dalai Lama- but did he ever have to figure out how to collect 20 grand in back dues from his “asshole” neighbors without getting his car keyed? I’m just sayin’, Dalai.
- Hey- if I really stretch, I can come up with a clumsy but halfway decent Hurricane Sandy/global climate change analogy out of this whole idea of growing up making Adult decisions- let’s go for it!
So – here’s the big analogy. (Are you excited? I’m excited!) We’ve all been having a blast for the last couple hundred years or so building factories and driving cars and flying jets and doing all sorts of really terrific irresponsible stuff to our hearts’ content and no one wants to admit that it might be time to grow up and deal with the mess we’ve made. I mean, basically, humanity has treated the planet like I treated my first college apartment- woo-hoo- Mom and Dad aren’t here- I can do whatever I want! Beer spill in the kitchen? Leave it, who cares? Evaporation is nature’s mop! Bathroom occupied? Piss out the window! Massive oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico? Fuck it! Just wipe off some ducks and buy a couple ads for Gulf Coast tourism. Carbon emissions causing global climate change and catastrophic weather conditions? Nonsense! Deny, deny, deny! What do 98% of the world’s climate scientists know about climate science anyhow? That’s the kind stuff that only Executives can understand. I mean, most of these scientists aren’t even millionaires- how smart can they be? Hey, I’ve got an idea, let’s piss on ‘em out the window! Woo-hoo, party!
And, yeah, I had almost as fun trashing that apartment as we’ve had trashing the planet. And you know what- nobody cared. Not my mom, not my dad, not even the landlord- he just kept my deposit, cleaned the worst of the puke stains and rented the place to another slob who didn’t mind living in filth. And, guess what, nobody cares if we trash the planet. Not God, not nature, not the cosmic landlord who was dumb enough to let us live here rent free for four billion years without checking our credit or taking the first and last millennium’s rent as deposit. We’re just gonna wallow in filth until we can’t live here anymore and some other species takes over- but is that really what you want? To live in a world that sucks? Cause if it is- I’ve got the perfect Presidential candidate for you. Sure he may look like a Good Adult decked out in the height of Mormon fashion (white shirt and tie), but don’t worry, he’s actually the biggest millionaire frat boy of them all and he can’t wait to get his Mittens on what’s left of the planet. Hell, he’s so committed to trashing the place that he’s gonna cut the EPA AND FEMA- that’s brilliant! I should have tried that when running for the HOA Board: “Vote for me! We’ll all flush paper towels down our toilets and then not call a plumber when the pipes explode. That’s what I call Fiscal Responsibility! Just two parts of my 5 Point Plan. Points 3-5 involve wading through shit.” I mean, I suppose there’s always a slim chance that corporations will choose to behave in an environmentally responsible fashion of their own accord if those government meanies from the EPA aren’t looking over their shoulders. That seems unlikely though, because if corporations behaved in a responsible fashion then we wouldn’t NEED THE FUCKING EPA IN THE FIRST PLACE.
For those of us that don’t want to wallow in filth and then die, the choice is pretty clear. We can’t vote for the guy who looks like a Good Adult- we have to vote for the guy who’s actually a Good Adult (don’t get me wrong, he looks pretty good, too, Prince Charles ears aside.). The guy who’s willing to do all the boring, soul-sucking, often meaningless shit that needs to be done so that we don’t end up living in a world that sucks. Because, sure, Business and the Economy are very important but the Dow Jones can’t go up if the Stock Exchange is under water. Plus, Romney holds a commanding lead among straight, white men- I can’t think of a better reason to vote against him.
So, I guess what I’m saying is- if you want to make this country better, then you need to get out and vote on Tuesday, regardless of how you end up voting. Seriously, I don’t care if you vote for Obama or against Romney- the important thing is to participate in our great Democracy. A Democracy which, you know, won’t exist in a few years if we keep electing evil plutocrat cocksuckers like Mitt. I’m just saying.
Wow, this got pretty heavy HEYYYYY, SEXY LADY! Something something something something…OPPAN GANGNAM STYLE. There, that’s better. That really is the perfect song. I hope they play it at Obama’s inauguration in 2013.
There, Obama campaign. I wrote a blog post for you. Are you happy now? CAN YOU PLEASE STOP EMAILING ME ALREADY? Oh, OK. I’ll give another $5. You just better fucking beat that guy.
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