Publication: MattOnAir.com
Publication Date: 12/04/2000

Derenger Shot #16

Happy Birthday to Me!

I turned 26 over the weekend. I realized that the age 26 means absolutely nothing. There are no societal benefits to turning 26. No car rental allotments. No voting rights. No legal age to buy smokes or liquor. No gambling rights. No first time driver's license. No porn purchasing privileges. Nothing. I guess 30 is next and then I can run for a Senate seat. At 35, I'll run for president. Hopefully by then Florida will have broken away from the continent and will have sunk into the ocean. I would not place my fate or the county's in a Ryder truck.

For the first time since I can remember, I received nary a gift on my day of birth. A few cards, a couple emails and the standard phone calls were provided. Had they not been, I'd have to seriously question my reason for living. In other words, if nobody even called to wish me a happy birthday, I'd probably have to shoot myself. No worries though, mom. I knew I could count on you.

I even had a woman I was dating on this magical 26 th . I thought I played my cards right having started dating her just a month before. That's enough time to secure at least a sweater or imposter cologne, right? Apparently not. Here's hope that Christmas will be better as long as she doesn't read this shot.

The gift of alcohol on one's birthday is ever present unless you're minus a liver. But how elated can you be when a close friend gives you a shot of Jack Daniels? Or Jagermeister? Even a long neck Budweiser? Not very. These gifts require not much thought, little effort in shopping, and no wrapping paper. Once received, they are usually gone in minutes if not seconds, one right after the other and another and another. Happy, happy birthday! “Thanks man. I'll think of you and your gift every time I look at the vomit laden stain on my back seat!” “You see that son, that's from your Uncle Chad being good to me back in 2000!”

And why do friends feel the need to pose for pictures with your drunken carcass? Like they just hunted and killed you in the wild jungles of Africa . “Get away from me, bastard. I'm not going above your fire place in between the antelope and the bison!” Simply ridiculous . . . unless I'm the hunter. Never fun to be the hunted.

So there's about 360 days left ‘til 27, depending on when you read this. I hope for better fortunes next year. But why? 27 and 28 are as meaningless as 26 was. 29 means 30 is walking down the street getting ready to knock on your door. I'll be ready to answer it though. With a hang over and the same outfit I had on the night before covered in my own puke. “Hey 30, I was out with Jim Beam and that Jose guy. Good to see you. I need to get cleaned up and start on my campaign.” Vote Derenger in 2004!

  Until then, love and laff.