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Monday, December 28, 2015

Youth Really is Wasted on the Young

The other day, I was musing about how bad it sucks that, as an adult, my body doesn't want to do all the things I promised it that it would way back when I was young and ambitious.  I mean, I'd love to live on Cheetos and Hi-C, but that sh*t doesn't even taste as good now as it did when I was a kid.  What the hell?  And in the odd case that I ever (and I totally have) tried to actually eat that crap for a day or two, my stomach goes totally rogue and I pay in disgusting, uncomfortable, and absolutely unmentionable ways.

Kids, this is your future.  Yes, this.

Later on, I was watching an episode of Supernatural where Sam's childhood imaginary friend shows up, bringing with him the gift of marshmallow nachos and some other crazy array of food combinations that could only have been dreamed up either by a child, or by someone on some weird cross-wire high of weed and beer munchies.  

And I thought, THAT'S why kids have stomachs of steel and no income, and adults have jobs and finicky, easily offended digestive tracks - because if it were any other way, we'd all be working solely for Twinkies and Doritos and the economy would just totally collapse.  Seriously, why piece together a well-rounded, healthy meal of grilled chicken, some kind of fancy-schmancy potatoes, and broccoli, when you can have 5-layer Snickers-Reeses-chocolate fudge cake creme pie burritos?  And not hate yourself the next day.  Right?  We'd be living the plotline of WALL-E and it would be just terrible.

WALL-E only looks sad because he doesn't have any taste buds.

...At least, that's what I'm going to tell myself when I'm wondering how much of a cheesecake my lactose-intolerant self could gnosh with a serving spoon whilst hiding in the kitchen alone without feeling complete and utter soul-crushing shame.

Kids also have the basic metabolism of a squirrel.  It doesn't matter how many chocolate bars, milk shakes, or french fries they suck into their face holes - they'll just run circles around the neighborhood a few times like Sonic the Hedgehog on crack, collapse into a sleeping pile of munchkin in some weird position and in the most uncomfortable looking place, and never gain an ounce.  

Nothing on this planet gives adults that amount of energy.  At least, nothing legal, and nothing that won't rot your teeth out and/or land you in prison for trying to eat some random drifter's face.  That's how drugs work, right?  Screw that.  Random drifter face tastes awful.

Drugs are bad, mmmkay?

So how is it fair that, as parents, we have on our hands these tiny little Tasmanian Devils but nothing that allows us the energy and stamina to keep up with them?  Oh, right - diet and exercise, huh.  How is that fair?  Here, little one, your energy comes from delicious chocolate and sugar-laden nummyness, and I have to get mine in minuscule doses from coffee, dry animal carcass, and vegetables that smell like feet and give me gas?  That's our reward for surviving this long? And we get to live even longer in this Hell if we eat right and exercise?  

No, I don't want a salad.  Have you ever ordered a salad at a restaurant?  It's like a dollar's worth of different colored fibers masquerading as different vegetables atop a pile of water leafs for like $8.  Wut.  That's not food, that's what food eats.  Bring me a slab of cow with a side of pig and follow it up with some kind of gelled/baked/caramelized sugar.  And yes, the cow can still be mooing.  Bring me a harpoon and a stein of something dark and malted.  We're hunters, people, not rabbits.  I don't want to live to be 100 if I have to do it nibbling on fiber kibble like a damned gerbil.

If anyone ever opens a restaurant like this, hit me up.  I'm there.

Can we also talk about this whole nap thing?  Kids don't want naps.  There's too much going on, they might miss something, why waste your time on sleep?  Adults want naps.  Just five minutes. Just... just let me lay my head on this desk here and... nope.  I remember when I functioned best with 2, 3 hours of sleep.  Now, I can't get enough.  8 hours, my a**.  Not that I could fit in 8 hours if I wanted to.  

Who designed this system?  Who do I write to to complain?  Obviously, things are severely backwards and I want it fixed.   Also, steak.  I want steak.

Do you also dream of plates filled with still-mooing, bacon-drenched bovine deliciousness?  Follow me on Facebook, you beautiful person, you, and let us dream together.  Oh, and I write other stuff, too.

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