Treinta

What an unfortunate thing it was to spend precious time watching that "fight" I posted about last week. It was very likely the most boring piece of shit fight I have ever seen in my life. Amputees could have squared off and produced a more entertaining boxing match. 

That being said, Evander Holyfield deserved an obvious victory and a piece of his old heavyweight crown back, but it was not to be. As happens so often in boxing, a terrible and most likely corrupt decision was made in favor of the giant Valuev. Usually when I spend $25 and wind up that revolted and depressed I have to get a blood test done afterwards.

As I watched Holyfield plod around the ring so much slower and generally just less than what I remember, I couldn't help but think of the horror that awaited me this week.

Tomorrow is my birthday. I will be turning 30 years old. This may come as a shock to many of you who had me pegged at about 14 based on my insecurity and fondness of dick jokes, or those who thought I wasn't a day less than 47 due to both my looks and 3 teenaged daughters. But I digress...Really, I do. Mostly when I'm alone. 

Sometimes I feel that my life so far can be summed up with the phrase "Stop at a Whammy..." but other times I think I'm pretty okay. 

I'm not really sure how to handle this milestone of making it 3 decades without killing myself while trying to impress some girl.  I really don't want to reflect back on what I have accomplished in my life because I want to kill more than 28 seconds. After 30 years it seems my biggest contributions to the world have been frightening examples of poor fashion sense and popularizing the phrase "It's like buttering a waffle."

I can't say that I am where I pictured myself being when 30 ticked off on my clock, but many of those dreams involved a scantily clad Susan Lucci and the magnificent benefits that come with having superhuman strength. Am I close to being where I feel I should be? Not at all, but  I did manage to lose my virginity along the way somehow, so that's a nice surprise. 

30 years without getting drunk is something. I'm not sure what exactly. But something is definitely a description of it.

I'm  depressed over the shrinking of the range of "older women" who I would pork caused by my rapid age gain. Am I about to lose the right to use the term MILF?

Physically I have never been anything to write home about, so I could always work out like crazy and turn into of these assholes who winds up telling every person he bumps into, "I'm 35 and in the best shape of my life!" I hate those fucks, but you can be sure the second I see one ab muscle I will have my shirt off and flex until I prolapse my rectum.

I guess that's it I worry if I think any more about my birthday that I will start crying and fall headfirst into a tin full of various flavors of popcorn that all of you have probably been sent by now. Before I stop I would like to ask a favor. 

If you are kind enough to comment, please refrain from using any of the following phrases:

"30 is the new 20"

"The big 3-0"

"It's all downhill from here"

"You're still so young"

If you use any of these, you will ruin my birthday. When you see a news report of a man getting paralyzed as he tried to hang himself with tinsel, I hope you'll be proud of yourself.