"We Hope You Live to be a Hundred"

Alright.
Finally.
I'm through the tube. The storm drain.
I've stopped at the gas station and hosed off all the mucus.
Frigging schoolwork.
Who needs it?
Someone does, I suppose.
The sort who need to schedule lovemaking sessions.
Picnics.

They've found a new oldest man.
Well, they didn't find him.
It's not like he was frozen or anything.
The guy that was in the lead, well, died.
Who drew the short straw to tell him, I wonder...
"You're the new oldest man!"
"Wha?!"
"I said you're the new oldest man!
Some guy in Japan died!
You're the new oldest man!"
"Wha?!"
And so on.
If I was 113 years old, I doubt I'd give a fuck.
I'd likely be more concerned that my bowels were still working.
"The oldest?
Well, does my pancreas still work?
It does?
Excellent."
Everything's going according to plan.

It's father's day.
I helped dad secure some cabinets.
Cause some other guy did a shitty job.
So dad had to fix them.
I helped.
I feel so out of place in my father's basement.
Unless I'm getting another beer.
I know I don't belong there, but he would never send me away.
I'm shy there.
The cabinets look great now.
If you happen to be on Lloyd Spencer's sailboat, you should check them out.