So I pretty much had the worst revelation ever yesterday and I know what you're thinking. "Shit. There goes the whole world because judgment day is upon us, according to made-up stories in the Bible." But that's not the kind of revelation I'm talking about.
The revelation I had is about aging, and it's not easy for me to admit I'm getting older because "Silver Fox" is not a nickname I'm ready for just yet. I prefer "Roguishly Handsome" or "Impishly Stunning" or "Incredibly Endowed"*.
"Change is hard", is my point. My capacity to change is limited to socks and sometimes underpants, and getaway vehicles because if you change cars two or three times during a getaway, it's like you just disappear. Unless you're in a parking lot with surveillance cameras and instead of driving somewhere and THEN changing vehicles you just get in the first three unlocked cars you can find and sit there for a minute hoping the trail will go cold. They never tell you all the details in the movies, is also my point.
Okay. About aging.
Baseball hats are very important to me, because they are my way of saying "I haven't showered in a while and my hair looks like an animal that was hit by a car and died and has blood matted in it's fur and then a few days pass and it starts to get all gross, and maybe it rains one of those days so now the fur is clotty** and eww. " Only I say it by wearing a hat. It's like how nature tells animals to stay away from one another like the skunk's stripe or the Poisonous Tree Frog's bright colors or the T. Rex's giant fucking teeth in your neck. Kinda a head's up, that I may or may not still smell like I'm sweating out the cheap wine and vagina from the night before. I don't know if you sweat out vagina. But I hope so. I like the whole world to know how sexy I am, as if it wasn't obvious.
But what I've come to understand is that no matter how comfortable it is, I am just too old to wear my baseball hat backwards. It looks desperate, like the face of a hooker just as you close the trunk. It says "Hey world! Check out the old guy trying to be handsome AND young. You can't have it both ways, Glory Days!" And I hate it when I get called Glory Days because it sounds like a mix of "Glory" which was about black ex-slaves fighting for the North in the Civil War and Denzel Washington was in it and was a very angry ex-slave and made me nervous, and "Happy Days" which starred Henry Winkler as a closeted gay man living over the garage of some nice folk and Potsy and something something Pinky Tuscadero. I don't know. My parents pretty much kept me whacked out on Robitussin DM© for my whole childhood, because I liked to "raise hell with no pants on" according to the psychiatric evaluation I just found last year, and that was the only way they could control me.
Anyway(s), You're such a Potsy.
So now I have to wear my baseball cap forward, and that's a fine how-do-you-do because... Fuck I'm bored with this subject. And I'm hungry. I need a Pop Tart©.
*And by "Incredibly Endowed" I mean "Gifted Sexually". And by "Gifted Sexually" I mean "Nothing that great." and by "Not that Great", I mean "Incredibly Endowed". Think about it.
**"Clotty" is the new "Your Mom" according to Hoyle, which I understand previously had to do with game rules, but now has to do with nasty slogans because who the eff even plays games that aren't on the computer anymore? Your mom, that's who. She plays Strip Heads or Tails too, according to the rumor I just started.
PS: Go Read Mama Pop! I'm hysterical. Trust me. If you don't laugh it's your own fault. Not Mine.