People tell me that I need to grow up. A lot. They say, “Greg, why don’t you grow up?” To which I usually reply, ‘Why don’t you grow up, and stop smelling like poop, ya dick, I hate your face.’ Then I go back to playing video games or watching cartoons.
The older I get, the more I realize that I’m never going to grow up and I’m comfortable with that. I’d make a shitty adult, and who wants to be a grown up anyway? Do you know what grown-ups do? They sit around with their few remaining friends, that they see only once every two years, reminiscing about times when they were young, and had fun, sitting around with their gigantic group of friends fantasizing about how cool it’s gonna be when they get older. Also, you don’t want your maturity level to increase too much, because how else would you enjoy the far more sophisticated fart and dick jokes of adult life. They really do get astoundingly more creative as time rolls on.
Whether it’s for the further phonetically fascinating phallic flatulence follies, or because you don’t have one of those “one-in-a-billion-Webster-style” diseases, you have to grow up at some point, that’s just nature. The problem is that most people equate being an adult, and being mature, as one in the same, and that’s just not true. Adult size is an inevitability for us “non-Gary-Coleman” folk, but maturity? That’s a choice. Sure, there will be some stuffed shirts that will want to sway your decision toward that of becoming a responsible adult, but these “Mr. Belvedere-and-the-british-guy-from-The-Jeffersons-whose-name-I-can’t-recall” types all want the same thing: a “flaming-bag-of-dog-poop-less” society, where people just pay taxes, have alcohol-free business lunches, and not pee in their neighbor’s yard after driving home drunk and can’t make it all the inside the house. Well I say, No Way!
I’m fully content with my level of maturity. There are far-less mature people out there than me. For instance, someone once told me, “Why don’t you make like a banana, and split?” So I said, ‘Why don’t you make like Michael Jackson, and beat several child molestation charges, then die of a suspicious drug overdose?’
Those are some pretty adult themes. Now who’s grown up?
I know that this may come as a shock to some—being that I present myself as such a responsible, brilliant, handsome, and of course modest, guy—I own a home. I’m married. I’ve held multiple jobs for several years, but let me assure you, all of these are hanging on by an extremely-thin thread. I’m a terrible employee. In fact, I’m typing this at my job while watching other people work and holding no less than three conversations in various chat windows with friends online. My wife has taken more than her share of my stupidity in stride. (Side note: in order to be immature and maintain a relationship, the other person has to be mature.) My home, while still nice so far, will eventually fall apart because I will do absolutely no maintainence on it whatsoever. They’re lucky I pay for it honestly, as lucky as I am to have someone responsible who goes behind me and cleans up after the wrecking ball that is my attitude towards responsibility.
Honestly, it’s pretty incredible that I’ve lived as long as I have, but immaturity is a double-edged sword. On one hand, it can be difficult to achieve anything in life when no one trusts you to get anything done. Then again, you don’t have to do anything. When it is instilled into others that you are completely irresponsible, no one asks you to things that you would never want to do because no one ever wants you to not do it, because they want it done. Immaturity leads to a completely stress-free life, and that’s alright with me. In honor of living the irresponsible life, which I recommend you all do, I will leave you with a half-assed piece of life advice, which you can decide to follow or not, if you’re mature enough to finish this whole article.
“Live each day like you’re surprised you’re still alive.”
