Fuck Old Age

"Old age is a progressive disability with death as the end result."

Harsh words. True words. Painful words.

My body is failing me, my mind is failing me. It is indisputable.

I am only 68.

I believe I can get some of it back through exercise. Mind & Body. I know I can. Get moving and LOSE WEIGHT. The only way to fight old age is to exercise, to keep moving, and to keep the mind active and challenged. Obesity is terrible and self-destructive. But quarter pounders taste so fucking good.

I have become obsessed with buying breakfast as I tool around going to endless medical apppointments and self-improvement seminars. I just discovered the Breakfast Baconator at Wendy's. Fucking awesome. I am a dead man.

I have done nothing for my mind this year except to bathe it in poison & pus. Acrid smoke drifts from my ears as corrosive liquids deteriorate my brain. I inhale the smoke and the cyclical destruction cycles back around. Soon I will not even be able to spell the word "cat".

What is frightening is how quickly I went downhill in 2022. I coasted into the year on the wings of an eagle. Feeling pretty good.

Knee problems began in mid January and I was immediately fucked. Surgery happened, recovery was slow, and repercussions continue through to right now. I have been unable to exercise the way I normally do and I gained 440 pounds. And I walk like Joe Biden - my legs are so fucking stiff.

I feel old. I feel unhealthy.

I am going to sue my brother for mental cruelty because he is in magnificent shape and it kills me. I can't be around him because when I am I want to stuff eclairs down his throat until he gains 440 pounds. Then we can waddle around together as the Roly-Poly Twins, visiting donut shops and patisseries until we explode in technicolor all over some asshole on a racing bike.

I am experiencing this progressive disability intensely. It dominates my body and my mind from the minute I open my eyes in the morning. I will start fighting back. But not today.

I just ate a big, fat bologna sandwich with a thick slab of onion on it. And lots of mayo.

Not my fault.

Jesus made me do it.