Today is my 31st birthday. Along with my regular spineless moaning, I offer a few observations:
* One's 31st birthday is the first lackluster age he experiences in his life. Seriously. 31? Who gives a shit? People get more excited about celebrating Tuesday.
* It's all downhill from here. At least at 30, one's 20s seem recent. Upon hitting 31, an individual has to realize that he must promptly abandon all hope and whatever ebbing potential he once feebly brandished is now as spent as a crackhead's ten dollar bill.
* Now that he is officially well into his 30s, one must get over the notion that his body isn't rapidly deteriorating like Britney Spears sanity. Jesus Christ, do you see her making it to 31? We'll find her in 31 pieces before we'll see her 31st year. Nevertheless, 31 years requires more intense physical maintenance. Get to the gym, you 31 year old fatbody.
In closing, here's a video of wrestler Giant Silva:
Yeah! Giant Silva is training hard!