It's Oscars time. Somebody wake the Grouch.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

So, 42 is the answer!

Everyone who remembers Douglas Adams brilliant Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy trilogy (in 5 books) also remembers that the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything is "42." No one ever figured out what the question was, though.

Well, as of today, I'm 42 as well. Yes, I know many of you surmised that I was 16 based on my sense of humour and ripplingly svelte physique, but you were wrong. I'm twoscore and two, is it turns out, and learning more about myself every day, but especially today. Today, the number 42 has revealed to me a staggering number of observations that younger me would not only have been incapable of reaching, but also too preoccupied with sex and sport to bother with. Now, I am fully prepared to address these staggering, mind-blowing revelations and share them with you.

Got a pencil handy? Here we go...

  • The birds fancy grey hair. My lovely and devoted wife says it makes me look "distinguished." I was hoping grey hair would give me an animalistic overpowering sexuality, but I can live with distinguished if it pleases the missus and distinguished doesn't equal "doddering." Quite frankly, I look very, very, very distinguished. Soon, I shall not have a trace of indistinction left.
  • Number 1 hurts more the older you get. Prepare yourselves. Of course, somewhere an 80 year old geezer is reading this and thinking, "Yes, but after 60, you feel it all less and less. I can't feel a thing there anymore." I don't even want to discuss number 2.
  • Politicians are stupid gits. All right, I suppose I had that one already figured out at 16. It's reliable filler though.
  • People passing the scene of an accident in their cars experience an IQ drop of between 50-100 points. I noticed that on the expressway this morning, as lines of traffic formed because people were too busy craning their heads to watch an accident on the other side of the other divided lanes to bother with somethign as trivial as the accelerator. The woman driving in front of me would have spun her head into Lind Blair territory if not for the the fact that, as she swung around in view of me, she noticed me gesturing wildly at her to speed the hell up. I don't know much sign language, but she seemed to get the message quickly enough.
  • The memory goes. I know this because I can't think of any more of these outstanding revelations. I could have sworn there were at least 42 of them. Perhaps they'll come back at 43.

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