It seems that if you want to be a legal resident of this third-world Land of Laziness, you gotta be tough. Not the emotional type of tough like where on that one episode of Friends when Joey and Chandler realized that their baby chick had lost itself inside their Foosball table and after desperately trying to free it, they eventually made the ultimate sacrifice and destroyed the Foosball table just to rescue this little duckling. Remember that? God, could you imagine taking apart your Foosball table like that?
No, I’m talking physically tough. Like the chicks on American Gladiator tough. That’s what it takes to do the equivalent of you renewing your American driver’s license here.
It began with a congregating of the masses around 7:45 am. Outside the perimeter of the C.A.D.A.M. compound, security forces were allowing those appropriately-tagged cars to enter, turning the others away. We, the people, locked outside the 3 metre high iron-gate which posted the sign, “Overt 09:00.”
As the minutes crawled by at a French pace, the crowd grew larger. And despite the open acres of sidewalks and round-a-bouts, the group, by this time in the hundreds, grew tighter, which prompted the 98% that were smokers, to light up.
This was about when all the’ cut-sies’, or, ‘cutsies’ if you can’t follow the hyphen, started. You remember cutsies. That sneaky stunt you pulled when you were a kid and wanted to cut in front of someone in the lunch line. But now as an adult, when you pull that shit, you either get ‘Hey Buddy’d,’ or you get a beat down. Which is kind of where this post is headed.
But not tonight.
Tonight must come to a close. You see, it’s that time of year when we must begin to prepare for our Day of Birth-like celebration. And this year, we’re pullin’ out all the stops. Not having any idea what that phrase means, we’re proceeding with Day of Birth celebration plans that will not only make my mom worry with worriness, but will make you want to come back to see just what the hell is going on. Or not. Whichever.
I can’t tell you where yet, but I’ve decided to set the unrealistic goal of spending each subsequent birthday in a different country. And looking back over the last few years and how I’ve unknowingly set the stage for this year, it’s clear why this weekend will undoubtedly be a disaster.
Having inadvertently spent the previous three celebrations in the three wonderful countries of the United States, Kentucky, and France, you’ll soon appreciate the downward spiral I’m on. And we’re not half-assin’ this year either. It’s a big one. So I ask you, with a losing record like mine, where would YOU spend your 30th?
No, I’m talking physically tough. Like the chicks on American Gladiator tough. That’s what it takes to do the equivalent of you renewing your American driver’s license here.
It began with a congregating of the masses around 7:45 am. Outside the perimeter of the C.A.D.A.M. compound, security forces were allowing those appropriately-tagged cars to enter, turning the others away. We, the people, locked outside the 3 metre high iron-gate which posted the sign, “Overt 09:00.”
As the minutes crawled by at a French pace, the crowd grew larger. And despite the open acres of sidewalks and round-a-bouts, the group, by this time in the hundreds, grew tighter, which prompted the 98% that were smokers, to light up.
This was about when all the’ cut-sies’, or, ‘cutsies’ if you can’t follow the hyphen, started. You remember cutsies. That sneaky stunt you pulled when you were a kid and wanted to cut in front of someone in the lunch line. But now as an adult, when you pull that shit, you either get ‘Hey Buddy’d,’ or you get a beat down. Which is kind of where this post is headed.
But not tonight.
Tonight must come to a close. You see, it’s that time of year when we must begin to prepare for our Day of Birth-like celebration. And this year, we’re pullin’ out all the stops. Not having any idea what that phrase means, we’re proceeding with Day of Birth celebration plans that will not only make my mom worry with worriness, but will make you want to come back to see just what the hell is going on. Or not. Whichever.
I can’t tell you where yet, but I’ve decided to set the unrealistic goal of spending each subsequent birthday in a different country. And looking back over the last few years and how I’ve unknowingly set the stage for this year, it’s clear why this weekend will undoubtedly be a disaster.
Having inadvertently spent the previous three celebrations in the three wonderful countries of the United States, Kentucky, and France, you’ll soon appreciate the downward spiral I’m on. And we’re not half-assin’ this year either. It’s a big one. So I ask you, with a losing record like mine, where would YOU spend your 30th?
