Two fers.

I find myself bored with my usual hijinks. Unimpressed by shenanigans. Tomfoolery grows lackluster in the wake of recent events.

These days, I use the words: “Yep. I’m too old for this shit” with frequent dexterity.

If I had a lawn, I’d yell at those “good for nothing kids.”

But with the right crowd, beneath the iridescent glow of an A-Bees table light, as we poke fun at our stranger danger waiter, I’m not afraid of growing up.

Also, the apostrophe isn't necessary. Win.


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