Reaching this milestone has prompted me to reflect upon my life. I've had many good years, a few bad years, and several pretty decent 20 minute interludes on Sunday afternoons while the kids were watching Boomerang. So far, the naughties (that's what I'm calling the current decade; I'm hoping it will start to catch on in the next year or two) have been a good decade for me. I built a house and had a daughter, and both of them continue to get bigger; it remains to be seen which of them I will have to sell to afford the other.
In the nineties I graduated from college, got married, got my first "real" job, had a son and bought a house. Hmmm, what was the downside of the 90s for me again? Oh yeah, crippling depression! The panic attacks, the crying jags.... good times.
The seventies and eighties were ok overall, but I think my favorite decade was the sixties. Those of you who lived through the sixties know what I'm talking about. It was such a peaceful, relaxing time. I swear, I did nothing for the first nine years of the sixties. I mean, I'm talking nothing. If people asked, I would tell them I was experimenting with the Heideggerian notion of non-being, but in truth I was mostly just chillin'.
I have Woodstock to thank for my conception. My dad walked up to my mom, who was sitting on a blanket in the sun with flowers in her hair, and said, "Hey, are you done with that newspaper? I haven't read today's Peanuts. I love Snoopy's little bird friend." Well, it turned out that my mom hadn't read it either, so there they sat, taking their break on a dumpster behind DOW chemical's Agent Orange plant, reading Peanuts together. My mom took the vowels and my dad took the consonants, and just like that, it was love. Which was a good thing, because they had been married for six years.
As they laughed over Snoopy's unnatural exploits with his avian companion, my future parents la la la la la la la I can't hear you I have my hands over my ears la la la la la la la la la can't hear anything la la la la la la la la la la la think about something else la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la pi to the 16th digit is is 3.141592653589793 la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la and just like that I was conceived.
That's when things started to really happen for me. Probably the first realization that struck me as I came into being was that I was going to need to be a lot larger for anyone to take me seriously. So I came up with the idea of doubling in size. This worked so well that I kept doing it, over and over. Pretty soon I was so good at doubling that I didn't even have to think about it. I just doubled. That's what I did. If anybody had asked me what I did, I'd have been like, "I double. I'm a doubler. Watch." And then I'd double again. But nobody asked.Then all of the sudden I was like, "Holy crap! I must be like the size of a house by now." But it turned out I was only like a millimeter long. I had learned my lesson, though. I decided only to double a few more times, and to take my time with it.
I spent the rest of the sixties the way most people did, hanging upside down and naked in a bath of amniotic fluid. The seventies arrived without much fanfare in those parts. I stayed up a little late to watch my phallus develop, but other than that it was just another night. But times do change, and the freewheeling days of the sixties had given away to the anxiety of Vietnam, Watergate and stagflation. Amid this chaos, a beautiful child was born, destined for fame, wealth and the adoration of millions, despite its oddly shaped nose and unusually large feet. Yes, on April 29, 1970, Uma Thurman was born, and coincidentally several hundred miles away, so was I. I have been living in her shadow ever since, except for a brief period in 1998 when it was generally agreed that I had made the better career choice by avoiding a speaking part in Batman and Robin.
Despite my Uma envy, it's been a pretty good life. I hope I live for a few more decades, not least because I want to see if we finally convert to the metric system in the 80s like my grade school teachers said we would. Overall I'd have to say that being beats non-being by a fair amount, although I can see how being could get old after a while. If it's all the same to you, I think I'm going to skip the 90s next time around.
Humor-blogs.com will still be around long after we're all dead and only the cockroaches are left to appreciate it.
UPDATE 12:35pm - I forgot to mention that today is the last day to get your captions in. I will select my favorites and post a poll tomorrow. See you then.
Labels: Exemplary Police Work, Nonsense
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