I’m turning forty-two next month. I got carded buying a bottle of wine last week. At this age I relish each time this happens thinking it’ll probably be the last time ever, but eager to save the experience so that I might later brandish it at the state-run elderly care facility where they send dishwashers, bike couriers, and web cartoonists. “I may look old now, but I was still gettin’ carded for liquor when I was almost forty-two! Suck on that ya wrinkled old farts! Now gimme yer jello or I’ll knock yer teeth out with my cane again!”
Really though I’m hoping never to end up in a place like that. That’s one of the reasons I never had any kids. Kids’ll throw your ass in an old folks’ home faster’n you can blink… ’cause they’re selfish. It’s not their fault, it’s just that this is the relationship they grew up having with you. They’re born, you do everything for them, in return they do nothing, and everyone is happy about it because you’re their parent and they’re just the cutest thing ever and look at that beautiful little baby poop… This is not the way to raise someone you expect to care for you one day. This is the way to raise someone who will measure you by your usefulness to them, and who will then drop you like an exploding porcupine as soon as you become a pain in their ass.
It isn’t even that your kids don’t have the ability to love unconditionally in them. They do. They are capable of displaying the same level of kindness and sacrifice and whole love that you gave to them… only they’re giving it to their kids, who in fifty years are gonna drop their asses in the same nursing home they’re about to put you into.
Personally, my plan is to fend for myself as long as I can, and then die in front of the holo-TV, playing Grand Theft Hover-Auto or masturbating along with 3-D images of Samantha Who? with the parental controls set to “Nude.” (Though that second one may be an inconvenient death if Lena doesn’t go first.)
In any case, this is all leading up to…
The Monday Question:
Which is, if you could pick the manner of your own death, what would it be? Death by Chocolate? Heart attack while getting blown by Gillian Anderson? Drowning in a river of your own money? How do you want to go?