My good friend Dublin O'Shea is no exception.
I've had the pleasure and good fortune of knowing him since we were 8 years old, and I feel comfortable in assuming that he does in fact have a butt hole... and a blog. It is the latter, however, that I would like to draw your attention to.
He has recently taken to blogging - and I find his stuff rather funny and I think you will also.
Dublin O'Shea will be featured here occasionally and I hope you enjoy his first submission.
Welcome to my loving arms Dubby! The floor is yours.
Who was that teacher back in the day....?
By Dublin O'Shea
I am slowly beginning to realize that I am getting old. And the fact that I am slow to realize things wasn't my first inclination.
Now I know that most of you will scoff at my feeble attempts to convince you that I'm old. You are probably saying to yourself, "He's not old. He's only 30!" And to those who are older than 30, you may be right. Then again, you may be wrong. Is 70 old to a person who is 80? I don't know. Because those people are seriously old. I'm just getting started in my oldness.
I have existed on this planet for 3 decades. So what could I know? In that amount of time I managed to graduate high school and college. I've managed to travel and in those travels have visited a few third-world countries. In these countries, it is not uncommon for a person to die before they hit 40. In those terms I'd be in the latter portion of my life. Relatively, I'd be an elder in the community.
Maybe it all comes down to perspective. But the point of all of this isn't to prove I'm old. I already know I'm old. And how do I know this you ask? Because I can't remember shit.
I had a pretty good memory for faces. But names allude me like an illegal crossing the border. I like to blame it on the fact that I've met thousands upon thousands of people in my lifetime. As a bartender, I associated them with their drink of choice. But I haven't bartended for 3 years, and I still can't remember names. Faces are getting harder too.
Names aren't the only things that are vague and fuzzy. My friends Disconnected, Doug, and Bob have an affinity for bringing up things that happened in our past. Things that happened 10-20 years ago. And I'll admit that I can vaguely recollect a few of the events they bring up. But they remember with such clarity and exactitude (see, I can't even remember words so I have to make them up) that it truly boggles my mind. My old, feeble mind.
I could blame it on the hard years of booze and drugs. That's always a nice thing to blame stuff on. And you would think that mind-altering substances might cause deterioration of long term memory. However, this isn't proven, and probably isn't true. But that doesn't have to stop me from making excuses.
That sad truth of it all is I'm getting old. The ol' grey matter just isn't as efficient as it once was. I'm wearing down. It's time for an overhaul. Disconnected is losing his hair. I'm losing my mind. Now I can rest easily in the dull knife drawer. I'll be the dimly lit star. I'll slip and slide my way from the pedestal where I looked down upon the dullards of the world with disdain.
Why was I cast down from my place of genius? Haven't you been listening? Age and Time are working against me and making me a mere intellectual mortal. Curse you Time! (as I shake my fist into the air and yell like Captain Kirk) TIME!!!!!
Now what was I talking about?
This can't be good.
Just call me "Old Man River". And if you see me wandering down the street in my boxers, a Sombrero, and flippers don't worry. I'm going to get one of those dog tracking implants installed in my neck.
I'll have human LoJack.
And someone will be along to gather me up and take me back to the Home.
0 comments:
Post a Comment