Old Mothers

They don’t die, they just wither away. Time waits for no man (or woman). Happy birthday, you are now an octogenarian.

A little tribute. Bet nobody ever honored your day with this one. Enjoy. Looking forward to the next -genarian shift in a decade’s time.

Your loving son,
Lars G.

Long Story Short

My childhood sucked. My father was an asshole. Thankfully he died early. My mother blamed her kids for her own misery. I have poor genes; chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, widespread mild to severe arthritis, thyroid disease (hypothyroidism according to my quack, I mean licensed physician ), a tendency toward pudginess (my mother said I had “big bones”), I don’t easily get along with people and I’m not handsome at all. It’s a miracle that I found a woman and got married, but that’s not what this story is about. Still, a miracle nonetheless.

With all this, in addition to getting older, going against me, I found it increasingly hard to hold on to my entire music collection, and yesterday I got rid of everything, digital and analog, by Ted Nugent. The guy only had two songs anybody remembers to his name; one about venereal disease presented as a cool thing, and another about pussy in a foreign language. I try to put up a strong façade, though, and it’s hard to tell from being around me the ordeal I just went through.

For those of you who don’t understand what I’m trying to say here, don’t worry; it would be very strange indeed if you did.

I made a strong effort to write this post without saying fuck, and I just failed.

Later, fuckers!