I went to the dentist yesterday. The conversation between hygienist and I went like this:

Dental Hygienist: How often do you floss?

Me: Never.

That about wrapped up the topic of flossing.


Who came up with all of this stuff?

How much daily maintenance can be crammed into one day?

I can’t keep up. I’m willing to hang on the peripheral border of being socially acceptable, but somewhere along the way we just got a little too crazy with it all.

Brush your teeth. Comb your hair. Make your bed. Wash your clothes. Shave your face/trim your beard. Clean the sheets. Prepare your meals. Do your dishes. Clean your car….and on, and on, and on, and on.

Somewhere, at some point in time, WAY back in the day, there is a caveman who needs his butt whipped. It seems like things used to be pretty good. Once upon a time, we could hang out, play with fire, go hunt a couple of times a week, and spend the rest of our time contemplating our navel and hitting folks over the head with clubs. But then, some asshole had to go and comb his hair. This is what started a firestorm of societal norms which involves a never ending list of daily maintenance tasks which must be performed if you are to be considered an “adult”.

I’m out.

I can’t play in the adult league of Adulting. It’s too difficult and the game moves too fast. Y’all expect too much

I’m starting my own rec league of Adulting- the kind where everybody gets a trophy. Getting out of bed gets you a ribbon and a smiley face. –Tweet this

I want to form a society that functions more like a “meat-and-three” of daily tasks. You choose like one big thing to do everyday, and two or three small ones. This is how I typically operate.

If my hair is combed, my clothes match, and my beard is trimmed….my breath stinks.

If my breath is good and my hair is washed…my underwear is neither, or non-existent.

If I’m wearing socks, then my dishes are dirty.

As for my car, it permanently smells like a sack of Krystal burgers made love to a protein shake, who was already in an abusive relationship with Broccoli, then had a love child named Kale, before a scandal broke out involving a sex tape filmed in the roller foods section of the Flying J, right in front of the pizza sticks and jalepeno bites.

I ain’t cleaning my car.

Anyways, at the end of the day, I’ll do whatever my wife tells me to do, but I don’t have to like it. Adulting is  hard.

Have some fun today.

peace, Love, and all things Beef related,

Beefcake

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