It's My Birthday
I turned 27 on Tuesday and I am feeling old. My body is slowly decaying. Soon I will be 30 years old and will have a mid-life crisis where I will buy a motorcycle, drive out to the desert, do some peyote, and then start shopping at Eddie Bauer. Also, I can tell that my field-mouse-like metabolism is slowing down because I gained 15 pounds in the last few months. This isn't a bad thing, since before I looked like an extra from Schindler's List. I just hope I don't have to start drinking *gasp* light beer like all of my friends with mini-guts. The day that I start drinking light beer is the day that I cease to smile.
On the upside, my wife bought me the best present ever. Check it out dude! It shoots that shit 15 feet, but I got one as far as 20. I brought it to work and we had contests.
Speaking of beer, I like to drink it, sometimes a lot. Is it my Irish/Polish genes making it inevitable that I will become a degenerate alcoholic, or is just that I'm a comedy writer and my life is filled with pain and suffering? This journey is hardly over for me. I'm headed for trouble, and you're coming with me.
A Comic From Childhood
I was a terrible student in school. It wasn't that I didn't understand the subjects, I just refused to do the homework and would doodle all over my papers during class. When I was in middle school, I met my friend "Homesliced Nick Price" and we started a thriving comic company with a colorful cast of characters. We were beaten harshly for our creative aptitude, and for using words like "aptitude". So please enjoy this comic called "Gunner" from the terrible year of 1991.
Are you concerned that you may be a character trapped in a Tom Waits song? Be smart and learn the warning signs before it's too late. Also, it's too late. It has always been too late.
I'm haunted by a recurring vision of a skeleton flipping me off. To avoid seeing this terrifying image in bumper sticker form, I pay someone with a blank bumper to drive in front of me at all times.
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