Yes, I have repurposed an already existing word and given it a glorious new meaning. Decrepitude is the quality or condition of being weakened, worn out, impaired, or broken down by old age, illness, or hard use. Decrepi’tude however is a lifestyle of excess, a bold statement, one which says that yes, while we may be of an advancing age, we refuse to be cowed by our impending mortality, and will indeed go all Dylan Thomas on the reaper’s bony ass. (Dylan Thomas was the party-boy poet who wrote this poem. He rocked sack so hard he died when he was 39.)

Let me me give you a fine example of our decrepi’tude. Over the past months it has been thoroughly discussed amongst my circle of close friends that we, somehow, without our consent or knowledge, became the old people at the bar. I’m not certain if it occurred on one particular day, or if it was a cumulative effect, but the sad fact remains, even the bouncers are younger than us. We are just hitting our mid-twenties, and yet we are undoubtably the creepy old guys. The kind of guys that, only weeks ago when we were undergraduates (okay, so it’s been a few years) we would make fun of, sometimes cruelly. Something along the lines of, look at these losers, why are they even out? Shouldn’t they be at home watching Jeopardy and drinking metamucil? Why are they hitting on college girls, they clearly don’t have a chance. Don’t they feel weird being here?

The truth is no, no we don’t feel weird, and thats because we rollin’ deep with an abundance of jillepsorius decrepi’tude son. We might not have a chance with the college girls, but we didn’t when we were in college either, so hey, status quo dicksmack, and guess what, consolation prize, we don’t have to miss Jeopardy, that shit’s on so early we can still make happy hour, and we even know that it plays back to back on seperate networks so we can watch it at 7, and then skip wheel of fortune, cause it blows, and watch it on the Massachusetts channel at 7:30, this time proving how amazing we are by getting all the answers right. And so what if we did have a few fiber supplements with our meal, regularity is important at any age, not the least when you are then planning to subsequently slam whiskey drinks in a social setting.

And so my story takes us to Mezzo bar and grille, a local hot spot (luke-warm spot) last friday night, where, fortified with many stiff drinks, and perhaps a raging semi or two my roomates and I partook in the mass-murder of an innocent dance floor, absolutely killing it with moves that should only be attempted by wily professionals like us, with our years of experience. It takes something special in such a crowded environment to find that, undoubtably over-awed by your prowess and enthusiasm, you have cleared the general vicinity of not only viable babe-targets, but every bar patron altogether. Outlasting all the sorority whores as most annoying last customer to be forcibly evicted from the bar after closing? You guessed it. Decrepi’tude.

Tonight on the other hand, my friday consisted of getting off work at 9 and coming home to find both my roomates already fast asleep. So maybe we’re just decrepit after all…

About Max T Kramer

Max has been better than you at writing since the third grade. He currently lives in Connecticut, but will someday return to the desert.
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