The Saddest Thing In The World

A few weeks ago, as I was on my way home from a rousing game of Jenga with some of my friends and/or Jennifer Aniston, when I passed a bunch of men in their mid-forties on crappy motorcycles, all congregating in front of a Shell station. It was, I kid you not, the funniest thing these old eyes have ever seen. It was a bunch of middle-aged men with old BMW motorcycles from the 1980's, trying to prove to one another that they weren't nearly as old and worthless as they most certainly appeared. They were probably the "rebels" back in the day, wearing heavy leather jackets in the hot, hot sun and defying convention by wearing their sunglasses at night. Oh, those crazy rebels! If that weren't bad enough, they all had their hog mamas riding on the back of their ugly motorcycles. It was a middle-age pity fest, my friends! I also got the distinct impression that this was the first time in decades some of them had been awake past 10:00 pm. I get a more convincing image of rebellion from a collection of middle-schoolers at a youth group meeting, pretending they're too cool to listen to "that lame youth pastor" and "only coming for the games." Puh-lease! Guys, I'm sure you're very good accountants, lawyers, insurance salesmen, and Taco Bell night managers, but you're just plain too old to still be grasping at the tenuous hold on youth you've had for about fifteen years now. Go home to your four kids, mortgage, crappy lawn mower, collection of "Yes" records, and twelve-year-old minivans. We don't serve your kind here.