He drinks a lot of french fries

When I was 20 I used to drink a lot. People would often say about me, “Damn, that guy sure drinks a lot!”
I'm in my mid 20s now and people still say that about me, but the tone has become more somber, “damn, that guy sure drinks a lot…” That's how you know you're getting older, when things that used to be cool about you become overwhelmingly sad. Nobody has ever said about a 45 year old man, "he's really awesome at smoking weed and playing Mortal Kombat," even if it's true. What’s weird is that there are definitely 45 year old men who play Mortal Kombat and smoke pot all day. They were in their 20s during the 90s and if my memory of being 5 years old in 1995 is correct, all of my 20 year old friends smoked pot and played Mortal Kombat.

My friends are growing up as well and are always talking about how every day they’re becoming more and more like their parents, but that’s just not how it’s been working out for me. I'm nothing like my parents, really. My mom is really scattered and severe and my dad is a six headed bear with titanium hooves and the ability to breathe fire. I mean, I’ve gotten a little bit hairier and I seem to get heart burn more frequently, but unless I grow hooves I'm convinced that I'm adopted. If I had hooves I would finally be safe from all the fundamentalist Jewish people. It's dangerous being kosher. I told that joke to all of my friends and none of them laughed. I decided to tell it anyway, because I’m a risk taker. Especially when the risk is something as inconsequential as, “maybe people won’t laugh.” Why do I care if people laugh? That’s not what this is about; I’m doing this for my health. My doctor told me if I don’t go out on stage and tell moderately funny jokes I will die in my sleep. It would be the weirdest fucking disease if it weren’t for chicken pox and leprosy.

When I think of a joke or a funny premise, I like to bounce the idea off my friends for feedback. Idealistically, my friends can criticize my material and I can use their insight to perfect my material. Realistically, when one of my friends criticizes my material we’re no longer friends. Because clearly that friend is an unfunny asshole who doesn’t know shit about good comedy and my joke about my dad being a six headed bear is not only funny but it is the funniest thing in the world, Brian! I don’t know… maybe it could use a bit of work. Maybe my dad should be a 12 headed squirrel. Is that more relatable? I’m sorry for yelling at you, Brian. You were right; let’s make up, old buddy, and we shall never fight again.

 I don’t even know anyone named Brian…

Has anyone here been to a Five Guys Burgers and Fries? It’s not the restaurant version of an idealistic overweight gay man’s orgy situation, in case anyone was worried; it’s just a restaurant stylized around the concept of gluttony. I was there for the first time recently and I tried to order a large French fry to accompany my large cheese burger and the dude waiting on me said, “are you sure you want the large fry, man? It’s a lot of fries for one person.” I was like, “hey man fuck you. Don’t make that kind of judgment call on my life; I am a grown man, an overgrown man, even. Don’t make a spectacle out of my poor eating habits; I’ve eaten a large fry to myself before.” He apologized and then handed me five giant brown bags filled with French fries. And then he brought the rest of the fries out in a wheel barrel. A more humble man would have then apologized to the man at the counter because it was now obvious that he was acting out of concern, not judgment. However, I have never been described as humble; I’m proud. I ate every single one of those French fries while standing right in front of him. I could tell he was impressed even though my vision was cloudy and obscured by the emergency medical technicians who were strapping me onto a gurney. I felt that I had won, even when the gurney collapsed under my newly obtained fry weight. I've never felt more American than at that moment. After the triple bypass surgery I received a call from Rush Limbaugh asking me to come on his radio show to tell my story. I turned him down because it's not about that. I think it was a beagle named Wishbone who once said, "Ask not what your country can eat for you; ask what you can eat for your country."