The Funny Side of Life at 60

Cape Town, South Africa, 18 March 2019.  Where did the years go? Today’s my birthday – the big six-oh. Like most fossils approaching the geriatric phase of life, it’s time to reflect on the funny side of surviving 60-years. By Des Langkilde.

Before I start ranting on about the ramifications of turning 60, bear in mind that this waffle is merely my opinion – I’m not looking for converts, although comments would be nice. In case you’re wondering about the smutty tone of this article, don’t worry. I’ve set the age profile at 18 and over to avoid polluting young minds.

If you’re offended by the occasional swear word, read no further. It gets worse. And, besides, I’ve always wanted to write in the lingua franca of everyday street English. So, here it is:

The End is Nigh

Cartoon strip
Cartoon relating to flatulence

Turning 60 sucks. Amongst other biological issues, it means that you can never totally trust a fart. Considering that the average person expels 
flatulence 15 times per day and this rate increases with age, I wouldn’t be surprised if governments start taxing senior citizens in the same way as bovine flatulence emissions are taxed.

I don’t know if it’s merely coincidence, but when I was a kid, the Afrikaans word “nigh” meant “fuck”, as in “Gaan nigh jou Ma, man!” Maybe I have the Afrikaans spelling wrong, but the sound seems to tie-in well with the old lament “The end is nigh” – maybe the Dutchmen had a point here.

Then, on the issue of ageing, seeing as time is relative, instead of moving from 0 to 60 in 1,893,456,000 seconds, why don’t we celebrate each New Year on the day that we are were born? That way, when we reach 40 years of age, we can start regressing back to zero (the average lifespan of modern homo sapiens is 79, so that makes sense). 

Psychologically, age regression is a shit-hot concept. It would mean that I’ve actually turned 19 today. The sad fact, though, is that I think that I look 26, feel like I’m 22, act like I’m 12, and that still equals 60.  Alternately, I could be 21 with 39 years of experience.

Painting by Richard Wagner (Entry of the Gods into Valhalla)

Whichever way I try to rationalise my new age, the fact is that the end is nigh. Being of Danish ancestry and Viking blood, my only hope is that when my time comes to head off for Valhalla, the bloody bridge is still intact.

Even if it is, I’d have to die in combat like other manly men to travel to Asgard, and that seems unlikely seeing as I managed to survive through the SANDFs bullshit attempt at bush war in the earlier stages of my hitherto uneventful life.

The Meaning of Life

Monty Python got it right when Eric Idle sang the lyrics; “Whats the point of all this hoax? Is it the chicken and the egg time? Are we just yolks?” 

Well, the yolks on us all if the Hinduism belief in reincarnation turns out to be true. Imagine eating your recently departed relative at the next braai.

Over the years I’ve studied and even got involved in all types of religious bullshit dogma, from the Monotheism doctrines of Christianity (thanks to my dear Mama’s Methodist indoctrination) and Islam (thanks to the Islamic Propagation Society in Durban) to the Theism metempsychosis doctrines of Hinduism/Buddhism, to Ron L. Hubbard’s quirky Scientology followers who believe in extraterrestrial thetans (I quit the latter when their Florida headquarters attempted to make me a high priest – for a fee, nogal). I’ve yet to explore the Animism beliefs of traditional African spiritualism though.

After 60-years of metaphysical pursuit, I reckon that Monty Python has come closest to defining the meaning of life. Perhaps then, instead of writing ‘Agnostic’ on those official forms that ask about religious denomination, I should write “Montypythonist”? That’ll fuck ’em!

Anyway, enough waffling. I’d better go and blow out the sixty candles that threaten to disintegrate my birthday cake before I can eat it.

So, what’s your take on ageing? Leave a comment, or share your snide remarks on social media.

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