Satire/Humor
Father Time is a Selfish Bastard
Father Time, the wise, kind, grandfatherly figure beloved since ancient times, is pissed. He’s turned into a crotchety, miserly geezer, hell-bent on slowing the world down to a pace more painful than squeezing out a turd after rectal surgery. In a real bitch move, Father Time failed to relinquish his crown to Baby New Year on January 1, 2020. He’s keeping the crown for himself. Talk about putting the “ho” in hording! Instead of kick-starting this decade off with a renewed sense of energy and spirit, Father Time infuses our days with the stagnant stench of boredom, fear, skid-marked pajamas and morning liquor breath.
If you suspect March lasted a decade and the first day of this month was April 536rd, you’re probably right. It’s like Father Time clogged the hole in his hourglass with hemorrhoid cream, allowing only the occasional grain of sand to fall. It’s clear he’s butt hurt about something, but what can we do to soothe his chafed feelings?
They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery and Father Time wants to hog the limelight. Maybe if we stroke his ego, he’ll pull the staff out of his arse and we can fast forward to better times. I offer some suggestions:
FT favors wearing a long, white robe. Let’s walk around in robes all day too! Oh … most of us are doing that already, aren’t we? Although ours aren’t white anymore. They’re food-stained from scarfing down everything in our refrigerators and cupboards, now that our kitchens have become makeshift 24-hour buffets. We could use bleach to look more presentable, but good luck finding any Clorox at the grocery store any time soon. It’s easier to turn the robe inside out.
Okay, how ‘bout growing a long, wavy beard like Mr. Effing-Time-Bomb himself? I see some of us have gotten a head start! Kudos, ladies!
His hair is uncut and grey. Whelp, I’ll be damned. Most of us are halfway there!
If we continue to emulate him, hopefully, in another month or so he’ll be appeased and we can move forward. In the meantime, there are truths we must accept:
For now, owning an activity calendar is overly ambitious.
No one cut four inches off the drawstring to our sweatpants.
With all this extra time on our hands, we must realize our mothers lied. We will not go blind.
When we find our toilet paper supply dwindling and begin eye-balling our child’s leaf project from last year, it’s time to seek help.
If you see someone stumbling around, unkempt and hairy, swearing under their breath about the state of this world and drinking whiskey straight from the bottle, don’t be alarmed. It’s probably just your reflection.
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