When I’m older, I’d like to be…34.
Being thirty four will probably do me well. That’s all I’ll need, I suspect…not that I’m suspicious of that age.
Well, maybe I am. It might be helpful to be suspicious of an age. I’ve heard what they say about people over thirty. And apparently the people over thirty haven’t because they still haven’t stopped.
Thirty should be middle-aged, but it’s got this ‘youth’ association about it, like scratchy little beards, or full-bodied acne.
However, 34 does have connotations of wealth, and that’s something I could really make some use of.
I am what money is for. Money is the latest ticket, surpassing the good looks and talent that had dominated the ‘dicking-the-landscape’ industry for the past few millennia.
If I had some of those paper numbers, I’d be able to slap whatever I felt like.
You could buy a field- who wouldn’t want to do that? Fields are where the best things happen, and where anything can happen. Like some further, more in-depth, slapping.
A field full of 34 year olds could really set the ocean alight. Set it alight with those paper numbers they carry around (I’m referring to currency, because I want to). Even the ugly ones that can’t throw.
And aside from that, 34 looks brilliant numerically, whereas the word-version appears a little long-winded. ‘Thirty-four’ is a dull read. ’34’ positively excites me, not like a woman, but at least like a number should do with such connotations.
Still, ‘chin (the fuck) up’, such as it is.
You see, I’m soon to be 24 (now see how lovely twenty-four looks compared to those digits over there…twenty-four was born for letters) and that really hurts for someone who’s been eight for the past sixteen years. (’16’ years? ‘Sixteen’ years? Definitely ‘sixteen’ years).
Aside from this I have issues for tissues with my forearms. Skinny bastards they certainly are, although EVERY SINGLE TIME that I’ve punched someone in the face it has worked entirely. The forearm issue only seems to revolve around sailor-like activities (aside from punching) such as lugging rope or hoisting…whatever you please- you’re a sailor, and therefore you hoist.
34 year olds have superior forearms to me, and that’s why I tend to either elbow or wrist them. And wristing someone in the neck is really fucking uncomfortable for everyone involved, so I must have a point to make…I can only assume.
Assuming is easy so I’m going to do some of it.
I’m am also going to assume that 34 year olds have got some reason to be held in suspicion, just look at their forearms. How did that happen unless they’ve gained a decade more than me in the area of hoisting? And then why would they hoist? Sailors? Are all sailors 34?
Does it matter? Yes? Ok then, fine. Let it matter.
But in the meantime I’m going to need all your money, because you’re 34 and I’m not and you might as well assume that I have several other reasons- I’ll be assuming the same. This is teamwork.
You see, this whole monetary issue really is expensive on the inner-lining of the soul. So kill it.
Kill it and relax for a while there really isn’t much else to do once you’ve killed money. Apart from holding fruit in higher esteem. Fruit deserves it. And so do I. So give me all your money.
Maybe I should lift…