Let's get one thing straight, kid. The only reason you're still conscious is because I don't want to carry you.

Thirty looms over my head like a gigantic ACME anvil in a not-entirely-thought-scheme in order to capture the Road Runner, but will likely backfire in my face,* crushing me through the ground and I will plummet down a sudden ravine I had no idea was directly below.

And then that dick-licking bird will eat his bird seed, and say "Beep, beep" which is asshole for "I'm also f*cking the one you let get away."

However, numerically speaking, before thirty comes the number twenty-nine, which for me, is just over thirty days away. Take a second, let the math settle in.

I have given my twenty-ninth year a theme, and that theme is "The Last Year I'll Ever Be Happy**" See, among the senior citizens I've spoken with on the wrong side of thirty, I've discovered that twenty-nine is the rough period, but they are more than prepared for thirty when the time comes.

In related research,*** a dystopian society in the not-too-distant future will manage and maintain the population and the consumption of resources in equilibrium by the simple expedient of demanding the death of everyone upon reaching the age of thirty.

To prepare for either contentment or death, I have began compiling my official "Last Year I'll Ever Be Happy" list. It's a fairly standard list of wants that you'd expect from any healthy young adult. You know, water park vacation, sky-diving, taking a punch on national news.

I believe the first item on the list however is the most attainable, and likely to provide the most happiness:

I want to get me a pug dog and name him Jack Bauer.

I know what you're thinking.

But Josh, thinks you, just last weekend you drank so much out of a whiffle ball bat that you passed out by four! And didn't you sit on a baby once?

First of all -- big people chairs are for big people. Secondly, I got this holmes, ya' dig?

I will tell you my various reasons:

• 

COME ON!!!!!!

• In LA, my first roommate Molly had an adorable pug named Chloe, whom always cheered me up and made me laugh. And she would lay on the couch with me and not judge me for watching Greek. And occasionally, I slipped her some beer, and then shit really got fun.
• I'm pretty sure I have exhausted all chances of making a human relationship work.
• In the event that I haven't, look at the photo above, and try saying no that it. It's impossible, and therefore, I will add ten hotness points with the ladies, and likely ascend an entire level. Seven to eight. Don't ask me how science works.

• 

COME ON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

• Sometimes pugs have trouble breathing bounding from room-to-room. I will always feel physically fit.
• With a dog named Jack Bauer, I will eventually get to meet the first black President, because Jack Bauer will have saved his life and they'll go golfing together and such.
• If Jack Bauer gets into trouble, I get to yell at him. I get to scream, "Damn it Jack Bauer! Get in your kennel!" And Jack Bauer will listen, which will make me the boss of Jack Bauer, and therefore, the most dangerous mother fucker on the planet.
• COME!!!!! ON!!!!!!
• I will finally have an excuse to make a YouTube video.
• I can hop-on-board the extremely rare Dog improv trend.
• I will teach Jack Bauer how to have random dance parties whenever good things happen.
• It's likely to be the cutest offspring I'd ever have.
• You will all get the greatest Christmas card you will have ever received.
• COME THE FUCK ON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!****

It has been decided. Well, seventy-five percent of it has been decided. I have to see how some upcoming jobs shake-out, and whether or not 1986 Landlady eats or uses dogs for fuel.

In the meantime, my birthday is Joshtober 7th and it is around that time I would want to meet Jack Bauer, so if anyone has any intel on where I can locate a pug puppy by the name of Jack Bauer, it would be most appreciated.

Okay, one more:


I DON'T EVEN CARE THAT HE ATE ALL THE BISCUITS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


*Quite literally. It's also wrapped in dynamite.
** A phrase coined by Andy, when we were trapped in the eighties cause we didn't have enough plutonium to get back. Or at a Miami Vice bar. There was whiskey.
*** Logan's Run
**** SERIOUSLY!!!!!!!!!!!!