Who Do I Think I Am??

This one's about the fear...and the romance.

THE PROMPT: "We’re all afraid of something. Write a formal complaint to whatever scares you the most."

Good evening everyone...thanks for dropping by. As you can see, we've got an interesting prompt tonight. Unless you're me of course, and have to find the counter-point in everything. If you know me, you know that, and also, you know that I'm generally pretty fearless (my injury history when compared against my actual physical size is a testament not only to that, by to also my general sense of occasional stupidity). I'm the guy Chuck Norris consults when he faces his greatest fear, which probably goes something like "I'm afraid I have nothing to fear. What do I do?"

That said, I am still a man with fear. But my fears are mainly of the emotional kind. I fear things like abandonment and depression, because I've lived through them and I know what that's like. Or maybe I'm more afraid of the feelings those things leave behind. I'm not sure. I fear crazy yet common things, like suffering through a car accident and dying days later while in a ton of pain, or dying in my sleep while my house burns down. But maybe that's just a fear of dying, which I really don't have because if I died doing something I enjoyed, hell, I'd die happy (even if I did suffer a little toward the end). So that's out of the conversation.

Anyway, since this prompt is about writing a complaint (two of the things I feel might be my best attributes...writing and complaining), allow me to formally insult my biggest fear (and probably my harshest reality)...Growing Old Ungracefully, as brought to you by the 76-year-old me.

Ya know what? You can have the hair, old age. I could never find a style I felt I could live this long with anyway, so turn it gray if you must, or hell, why not take it all anyway? I can accessorize my head some other way. You can take my muscles and replace them with pain too. I saw that one comin' a mile away, given the way I've abused this temple. Sex drive? Don't even need it. All the girls women my age have been ruined by menopause, and even if I could get it up, it'd be like floating a deflating raft into a hot tub with that lost most of its water. And while you're at it, take my damn friends too. The Senior Center's a joke (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Adgx9wt63NY&ob=av2e) and it's just as bad as high school, what with the old lady cliques and their gossip, and the jocks still looking like they could throw a football 60 yards just by sticking out their square jaws and smiling. All these diseases going around, the cancer, the hiv, the di-a-beat-is (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ILIvPzyK_8I), ya can't take me out with that, but just give it to everyone else so I can be the last guy at the party to go to sleep just so no one wrecks my shit or draws a pecker on my face while I sleep. My teeth? They'll gimme fake ones. But I'mma tell you sons-a-bitches one thing, and one thing only...

While you haven't taken my sanity (cuz clearly I was never given any when they was passin' it out with the free cheese in the eighties), there is one thing you will not take from me...my conscience. I may have done many unconscionable things in my years, but you're not gonna take away my mental capacity. I don't care if I was five years old or it happened 5 minutes ago...I'm gonna remember it, dammit. You're gonna let a tree fall on me, or strike me with lightning, or drown in a horrific hip-breaking shower fall before you think I'm ever gonna let you rob me of my mental stability. You got that? Do ya? DO YA? I think you do.

Now, about this uncontrollable bowel movement situation. I can deal with a random shart maybe once a year or two if I'm queasy, but this either needs to end, or you need to end me, cuz there isn't a soul alive I could or would pay to wipe my ass for me and actually clean that shit up. If this is how it's gonna be, don't let me see my 77th birthday. Just put one of them pillows over my head while I'm sleeping that's soaked in the poly-phosphor-chemical kinda stuff, I forget what they call it. AND NO, I'm not losing my mind because I can't remember what the damn thing is called!!

MUSICAL BREAK!!

Apparently, I've written myself into this type of person, which is indeed very likely: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MkI-SF3ieSM&feature=fvst And I'm ok with that. I'll either be the dirty old man, or the miserable old man.

So, let's mellow this out a little bit before I get into the real meat of this entry, since I feel as though I've satisfied the prompt portion somewhat... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h3chFhCP5mQ

VITAL STATS:

Let's file this under the category of "Retail Genious Moves That I Wish I Would've Thought Of Years Ago"...so at work we're in the process of boxing up all of the Christmas merchandise and making room for Valentine's Day candy and gifts. This year, the last six feet of "gift" merchandise is considered the "Romance Gifts" section. It's supposed to feature gift sets with champagne flutes and fake rose petals, along with candles, fake roses, handcuffs, a large K-Y Jelly display of "his and her" lubes and it's completed with a clip-strip of Trojan condoms. Justin Timberlake's got nothin' on Walgreens bringin' sexy back. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O9REMmhvjQw

I wonder, since it took so long for any retailer to incorporate such a big amount of sex into the Valentine's retail landscape, what do you think will happen when the whole gay marriage thing finally becomes socially acceptable? Am I going to have to set a "Bromance" section for Valentine's Day? Will K-Y be promoting a "Yours and Yours" or "Mine and Mine" lube instead of the "Yours and Mine" label they're pushing? Will we be selling fancy panties to go along with the boxers? Oh wait, we already do that.

Overheard from a customer on the other side of the Valentine's aisle while I was boxing up the remains of Christmas merch: "Valentine's Day (crap) already? Jeez, ridiculous." I apologize to you, you hideously disgusting and unloved middle-aged white trash pile of filth, but we didn't get any Martin Luther King Jr. Day decorations in this year, so you'll have to suffer through the hearts and stuff. But check back soon...maybe by February 15th we'll have all of the Presidents' Day chocolates and decor ready!

I swear, in 20 years, I might not have to worry about dying. You've heard me make the comment before about how our Christmas merch has so much glitter that it won't wash out 'til Easter, no? Well, I'm fairly certain I'll be getting a letter in 20 years about a class-action lawsuit against Walgreens by former employees who had to touch merchandise in 2012 that was made in China, and now they have spots on their lungs from all of the glitter that they either inadvertantly inhadled, or was washed through their skin and has coagulated near an artery. If I'm lucky, I'll get a $60 check for my pain and suffering. And when I die, I will combust like a glitter-filled pinata beaten by the fattest kid with the hardest swing, but is too slow to drop the stick and actually get the candy.

This actually scares me that there are people in society that will do this, but it's maybe the funniest and bizzare thing I've heard in quite a long time. Basically, this drunk woman punched and scratched an expensive piece of art, rubbed her naked butt up against it, passed out and pissed herself. I don't even know where to go with that one. Wow. http://www.denverpost.com/news/ci_19677478?source=rss

And with that, I better get out of here. Gots to be up before the rooster tomorrow, so I'm gonna hit the shower, catch a little wreck on Facebook, and go on my merry way. GOODNIGHT NOW!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ApgUXeNU3oI&feature=related