Aging past thirty comes with some surprising changes. For example, after the age of 33, you can no longer digest food without copious amounts of coffee or prune juice. After your mid-thirties, unless you force yourself to poop, everything you eat retains its original shape and forms a new inexplicable bulge.

One of the bigger surprises is liking status updates on social media profiles for your friends’ cats, which I figured was a one off sort of thing, but then it kept happening. So, much like codependent relationship after the age of thirty, I’ve come to accept it as a pattern. Speaking of which, dating changes into something you no longer do, because it cuts into the time allotted for updating your cat’s social media accounts.

But perhaps my greatest disappointment is the fact that I can no longer listen to melancholy music, because I can’t help but think, “Just go ahead and fuck his best friend already, like a goddamn adult!” Which is also why I never befriend any of my friends’ partners, because I never want to be placed in the position where I have to fuck either of them after their next argument.

Your twenties are also the last time you should be allowed to buy a gun, because if I buy a gun at my age, I’m either going to shoot my coworkers or myself. More realistically, I’m gonna hang out at a bar until 2am and take home the most rundown hippy with partially dreaded, rat blonde hair that looks like it’s been freshly washed in an oil spill, and they’re going to shoot me in the face while I sleep.

And you may be thinking, “Why wouldn’t your gun be in a locked safe?” Answer being, that would be inefficient when having gun sex. So now, your question may be, “What the hell is ‘gun sex?'” To which I reply, “If you’ve never drunkenly inserted a loaded handgun inside a stranger at their volition, you’re not in your thirties yet, and you just can’t understand, youngin.”

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