Monthly Archives: February 2012

Gaddafi Ninja’d… And a Few Things I’ve Missed Out On

It’s nowhere near my birthday, but a bunch of people I know have ones coming up.  This means I have to keep hearing about how old we’re all getting.  This usually doesn’t bother me.  Usually, I don’t remember how old I am.  I have to do the math.  On occasion, I’ve actually done it wrong.  I’m pretty sure I was 19 for a few years.

Maybe it’s my ninja-like procrastination skills, or my tendency to just do whatever people tell me without question, maybe it’s that I constantly keep trying to get through one day at a time to avoid the soul crushing pointlessness of the day in and day out routine of modern society, but getting older has never bothered me. 

Why let it?  It’s going to happen.  You can’t stop it; you can’t Peter Pan that shit no matter how much of a douche you are.  You can hide from the fact that you’re becoming an adult by acting like a child, or you can just say fuck it, because this is who I am.  Who you are might be cool, probably not.  But it’s you, and trying to conform to these age determined milestones of where you should be and what you should have accomplished is only going to drive you insane.

Regardless, the years start creeping.  You’re going to get older.  It’s probably going to suck.  Maybe it’s the gray hairs I keep noticing as I’m Murray’s-ing my awesome hair, or maybe it’s that I’m getting a little pouchy, or that I’m always friggin tired, but you start to feel old.  It happens.

And having to listen to everyone else bitch about how they’re getting older and their life isn’t where they want it and they should be married or they should be Prince of Sealand or have a pet duck—wait that’s mine—or have some other crazy animal that they won’t name Rupert because I totally call dibs on that pet name, is starting to make me feel like that too. 

I’m beginning to feel that now I’m not where I should be, that now I’m getting too old to do whatever I should have been doing.  That feeling has been starting to grow but it didn’t truly hit me until I was reading this article on Cracked, and then it was a bit like a flick in the nuts.  You don’t notice it at first, but there it comes, kind of like a wave of ball-pain that rolls up your junk and just sits in the pit of your stomach.  I was ninja’d.  I got ninja’d good by Cracked.  It was #4, the part on Gaddafi, that started the ball rolling.

The thing is, I’m 27, and that’s still young enough. Except for a gay wedding and a couple other instances, most of my friends are still single.  They’re getting engaged but fuck that, everyone’s engaged these days.  Some are engaged to be engaged, as if it were possible to stupid up this world any more.  So unless there’s an open bar, I’m not counting it.

So after getting my balls ninja’d by a website, I started thinking about all the people who have done things, notable things.  I mean legitimate notable things—historical, newsworthy-notable things.  I don’t consider the double digit collection of traffic cones—and one construction barrel—I’ve amassed notable in this regard.

So here are some things that I am now, apparently, too old to accomplish:

Be a boy king. 

From ten to eighteen Tutankhamen was the ruler of a fucking country.  Ten.  Ten years old this kid took the throne.  I don’t think I even knew what jerking off was when I was ten, and this kid was a goddamn Pharaoh.  I got a black belt in Tae Kwon Do when I was ten, what did he do?  Assumed the throne of Egypt.  I think he wins.

 I was getting my first speeding ticket and he was being murdered by jealous rivals.  Or dying of malaria.  I guess the murder theory has fallen out of favor, even though malaria or a broken leg taxing his feeble product-of-incest health is pretty lame.   That’s the trade off with being born heir to the throne, his parents were brother and sister, leaving Tut with a cleft palate, scoliosis, and reduced him to walking with a cane for most of his life.

But he was a pharaoh.  Totally worth it.

What sucks for him is that his death was sudden, so his grand burial chamber wasn’t finished yet.  The tomb he was found was much smaller than what would be expected for someone of his position.  Since the custom was for burial to be seventy days after death, there wasn’t exactly much time to build a pyramid for him.  Which means eternal rest in a tomb intended for someone else.

Become the youngest college professor.  Ever.

At nineteen years old, Alia Sabur became the youngest college professor in history, beating the record previously held since 1717.  She officially got the job three days before her birthday, so some people say eighteen, some nineteen.  I’m going with nineteen, since that’s when she started teaching.  Alia was one of those I don’t need to go to school because its boring and know everything and aliens rewired my brain to make me awesome people.  She enrolled in undergrad at age 10, graduating summe cum laude at fourteen at which point she went to grad school.  Remember when you were a freshman and sat alone at lunch your back to everyone writing poetry about how no one understands you?  No?  Right, me neither.  I don’t write poetry.  Yeah, so she was starting her Masters—you know, the new Bachelors—a degree most twenty-two year olds don’t have the attention span to achieve.

Record a Black History commercial.

I’m sad I’ll never record a segment for TBS’s Black History Minute like Barack Obama did when he was 20.  It was riveting to hear about… a black lawyer… I think he had something to do with civil rights.  Plessy vs Ferguson?  He went to Howard University—that sounds familiar….

 Come on, it was only a minute long, were you really paying attention?  Or where you too busy snickering because the future President stuttered out S-S-Supreme Court and trying to decide if he was on his way to going full afro?  I’ll also never get to impress all twenty-five people watching TBS in 1991 with the fact that I was editor of the Harvard Law Review.

I actually like the idea of the Black History Minute commercials, kind of like the end of an episode of GI Joe.  A moral to offset the cartoon violence, and distract you from the fact that the Joes lose every time they go up against Cobra.  They always get away.  But now you know, and knowing is half the battle.  The other half is making losing look good, so good you don’t even notice they suck at their jobs.  And think about it, without the Black History Minute, most people would never know that the Buffalo Bills stole their logo from a historically black Howard University in Washington, DC.

Start the British Invasion.  And then piss off some Jesus-freaks.

By 1964 the Beatles were a pretty big deal.  They’d formed four years earlier, had a decent radio hit in the UK a couple years later, but it was by ’64 that they basically dominated the entire planet with their underwhelming music.  George Harrison was the youngest of them at 21, so he’s the reason why they fall at this point in my list, and the reason they got way too out there towards the end for anyone not dropping acid like it was a fulltime job.  Paul McCartney was next at 22, followed by Lennon and that creepy Mr. Conductor from Thomas the Tank Engine, both 24.

Two years later, in 1966, Lennon famously stated that the Beatles had become “more popular than Jesus” creating instant unbridled foaming at the mouth hatred from the United States’ Bible Belt.    Turns out he was just referring to how other people saw their success, probably after his manager told to him to tone down the “I am the Second Coming” rhetoric.  “If I’d said television was more popular than Jesus, I might have gotten away with it,” he later said, “but if you want me to apologize, if  that will make you happy, then okay, I’m sorry.”

And then he walked water.  And by water I mean the bajillions of dollars he used to fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool.

Be a record setting female jockey.  Or a female.  Or a jockey.

Since the Beatles skipped over 23 we’re going to backtrack to Rose Napravnik who set the record for finishing 9th place in a race.  This wasn’t a race just for females, like how they have their own pushups.  This was a real race, but 9th place was still somehow a milestone. 

I once won a first place trophy that was taller than me when my three opponents got each got disqualified for kicked me in the head.  I didn’t even duck into those kicks; apparently I just had a face that needed to be kicked.  But I won and they didn’t, so it’s cool. 

But for finishing 9th at the Kentucky Derby, this 23 year old chick from Jersey beat the previous record held by a woman … 11th place?  Maybe?  I think it was 11th place.  Nobody cares.  Oh, and in 2006, her first year on the job as a professionally jockey, she made over six million dollars.  So, yeah…

Assassinate the President.  Maybe alone, maybe with the CIA.  Or maybe with Keith Hernandez.

I’ll never get to assassinate a president, whether as a lone gunman or as part of a conspiracy.  At twenty four, Lee Harvey Oswald made three impossibly fast while amazingly accurate shots and changed history.  Then he got shot too.  I always forget that he was that young. 

Maybe it was the hairline, maybe it was that he’d joined the Marines, defected to the Soviet Union, came crying back, tried to defect to Cuba, had a wife and two kids and then shot the freakin President of the United States, but something just always made me think he was a little older.  I don’t know. 

John Wilkes Booth was 26, so there’s another example of my dropping the ball, especially considering he was a well established actor at the time.  Presidential assassin wasn’t his claim to fame—he already had that.  No, organizing a rebellion against the union and killing a president was just the quirky Scientology-like cry for attention of the 19th century.  Everyone was doing it.

  But, I suppose there’s a little hope for this one yet since Leon Czolgosz was 28 and Charles Guiteau that crazy-assed oft-forgotten assassin of James Garfield was 40.  It seems to have taken him a little longer to work up all that crazy.

Take my parents to court in Spain and lose because I ‘m a freeloading bastard.

Okay, maybe I’m a freeloading bastard, but at least I know I have it good and I’m not about to take my parents to court because they cut off my allowance.  When I was 25.  And was going law school. 

That this guy lost shows he should maybe study a bit more.  According to the judge the man  completing his studies at such a slow rate, he may not be done for several years.  Several.  Years.

That he took them to court shows that he’s a douche.    He was demanding $588 a month from his parents.  The judge ordered him to get a job and learn to support himself.  This judge’s tough love approach for some reason applied to both man-child and parents in that he also ordered the parents to provide a food stipend for two years and take over the guy’s car payments.  I feel like that wasn’t so much teaching the guy a lesson at that point.  Especially since, according to the parents, their kid was verbally and physically abusive towards them, who both held full time jobs. 

I can’t find any articles that mention him by name, but they don’t specifically say the records of this ridiculous lawsuit have been sealed.  Regardless, he’s about a year into his two year food stipend, so I hope he put his law degree to good use and found some work flipping burgers for tourists.

Organize a city-wide bus boycott.

In 1955 Rosa Parks refused to move her lazy ass out of some white guy’s lawful seat on a bus, touching off what would later become the Montgomery Bus Boycott.  This racially motivated and financially crippling protest was led in part by Martin Luther King, Jr.  He was only 26 at the time, but was already a leading voice in civil rights and desegregation.  The year before this he’d been appointed pastor of the Dexter Avenue Baptist Church, as well as started working towards a Doctor of Philosophy degree from Boston University. 

All right, so contemporary analysis of his dissertation has proven he plagiarized portions of it, but who hasn’t copied and pasted from time to time?  While paying the bills as a Baptist preacher?  Its 1955—no one’s going to Google that shit, you’re cool.

By the way, King skipped both 9th and 12th grades in high school, enrolling at Morehouse College at age fifteen without technically graduating high school, because apparently you can do that.  At Morehouse he earned a bachelor’s in sociology and from there received a Bachelor of Divinity degree of Crozer Theological Seminary three years later.

Lead a coup against a King.

Muammar Gaddafi, Brotherly Leader and Guide of the Revolution of Libya—or Styles to his close friends—made some headlines this year for finally getting killed, and that was more or less bound to happen eventually. 

But despite being out of his mind, the impressive thing wasn’t necessarily that he’d managed to maintain power since 1969, but that he was able to seize it at all.  Oh, right, he did this at 27 years old.  I don’t know much about Libya, and I don’t know shit about King Idris, but something was wrong on both accounts if a group of 70 officers and enlisted men—mostly from the damn Signal Corps—were able to overthrow the king’s government and take power without a single person on either side being killed. 

The Signal Corps?  You mean the guys answering the phones?  Taking messages?  They took over your country?  Within two hours? 

Okay, so King Idris was in Turkey for surgery at the time, but two hours?  Your army’s secretaries just took over your country in two hours?  You suck.

What did I do when I was 27?  I watched a lot of BBC shows on Netflix and pulled a Mulder by sleeping most nights on my couch.  Gaddafi overthrew a king.  And then went on to crazy up Libya.  He finally got his long sought after revenge on the Italians for his grandfather’s death in the 1911 Italian invasion of Tripoli, and the death of his cousins due to an Italian landmine when he was kid by expelling Italians from Libya entirely.

It was a good start to his completely fair rule.  Libya was a republic now with the monarchy gone.  Totally a republic.  See, its even called the Libyan Arab Republic.  He wasn’t a dictator at all.  Nope.  Definitely not. 

 That brings us right up to the present where I’m sitting in a well worked-in groove in my couch drinking some High Life.  It’s a tasty beer, at a tasty price.  What?

But maybe all of this isn‘t much to be depressed about.  After all, it takes Saturn twenty-nine years to orbit the Sun, maybe I just have a slow orbit.  That’s not entirely an optimistic view of life since it’s only going to start another thirty year orbit.  Not much to look forward to.

So I have a slow orbit.  Or I’m just lazy.  Or I watch too much TV.  Or I drink too much.  There’s a hundred reasons why this isn’t my fault.  After all, I’m an American.  Nothing is my fault.  This is the land of deniability; just ask anyone who’s served in office. 

It’s not like I’m alone in this not doing shit with my life either, I mean, Jesus didn’t get on the ball until he was thirty, so what do you want from me? 

Yeah, that’s right; I just compared myself to Christ. 

You know he liked the High Life, too.


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