Pagan Longevity

As I extend my middle finger to the great Methusala statue, a sense of relief and tranquility washes over me. The poems I had written to Adler, the ongoing bake sale - all of it has meant nothing to me. I chuckle to myself and wonder why I pretended for so long that it did.
I wake every morning like always - 10 reps of chin thrusts followed by the juice and pudding routine. These days are priceless, I truly hope they never end.
As bedtime draws nigh, I place my hand on my heart and think about the letters Rory used to send me from Chambre Vista - and that crazed look in her eye when Sully whipped his dick out at the Pizza Hut back in '86.