A Commentary on Getting Old, By A Young Person

Yesterday my grandmother went to the hospital for X-rays. Her hip replacements stopped her pain for a short time, but it was not to last. She is unsure of what is going on. She is terrified that she will have to endure yet more surgery.

She waits for the doctors to confirm the results. The doctors gave her painkillers she won’t take, but she can’t sleep through the pain.

And here I’m thinking, “Gee golly, I’m glad all I have to take is some melatonin before bed! Fuck getting old! It must suck!”

Many argue the young don’t worry about getting old. That’s a bald-faced lie. We worry about it daily. That’s why we want to die young.

I don’t want to end my life in pain and misery, fucking around with shitty hospitals and people that don’t care about me. I want to die in a blaze of glory. I want to die with my arms around a sexy woman, driving a big-ass American truck down to my doom, preferably by nuclear bomb or some other manly way to die.

Life’s too short to die boring.

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