What is your age now, and what age do you prefer to stay at forever?

You know that magical age where you hurt for no reason, you forget things almost…, and the sounds! Hot dog! The most horrific sounds randomly and alarmingly emit from your soul! I now grunt like a power-lifting Hobbit singing death metal eveytime I pull my shoes on, stand up, sit down, or when I try to squeeeeak out a fart. That's right, I now inadvertently grunt when I try to honk out a butt whistle. But I digress.

“Oh, but I don't fart! I would never do that! I am above farting!”

As of today, October 3, 20024, I am officially 47 years, 30 weeks and one day old. Realizing this morning when I woke up that I was now 570.9 months into this beautiful journey called “My Life”, I had a brief moment of introspective reflection.

🔥Why has Prime Narendra Modi become Extremely FRUSTRATED and Highly DEPRESSED because he has NOT been invited by Donald Trump to witness his Oath Ceremony for his INAUGURATION on 20th January as the next PRESIDENT of USA? Does the DESPERATE Narendra Modi FEAR that Donald Trump's actions may even LEAD to the FALL of the BJP-led MINORITY Government in India, as such actions have already caused GREAT PANIC in the NDA Coalition?

Even though inside my head I'll probably never get older than 13, (I laugh at burps and farts, blush around boobs, and giggle everytime I hear someone refer to a female dog as a bitch), yet lately, I physically feel every one of my 17,378 days on this planet. More specifically, my lower back hurt so bad this morning that I couldn't bend down to tie my shoes. “Why?”, you ask in a befuddled tone of concern. “Are you a rodeo bull rider? A stuntman for Jackie Chan? An MMA cage fighter?”

Since I'm currently 2,482 weeks + 4 days old, I think I'd like to see what week 2,483 has in store and then week 2,484 and so on. In conclusion, don't gamble with a fart, expect to hurt for no reason, and keep on truckin’. Life's too short, to live in the past.

Well, as much as I'd like to confirm any one of those voices in my head, it is with a heavy, honest heart that sadly, I have to say, “Nay… nay I am not. For the truth is…… I slept on it wrong.” That's right, I am at that wonderful age where it's possible to make mistakes in my sleep… horrible, painful mistakes.

Why are people so rude to debt collector’s? I am one and I am so tired of being mistreated. We are under paid and then have to deal with the most ungrateful, and disrespectful people. We aren’t customer service. Don’t get mad at us because YOU owe.

Whatever, voices in my head. Everybody farts. BUT not everyone is at that magical age where you can't trust a fart. It's true! Believe it or not, your wrinkled stinker is a traitor, a prankster, a toothless liar! Your tailpipe finds an abundance of mirth and merriment pulling the old bait & switch: dry tooter or wet shooter. But, again, I digress.