Seems like lately I can’t bend over and tie my boots without my big ass bumping into someone, some stooge all ‘Oh, I used to be punk, but I grew out of it.’ Motherfucker, how do you grow out of giving a shit?! I mean, if you feel like you’ve gone your 12 rounds with all the man-made evils in the world and lost, and you’re just too much of a cream puff to keep it up, just say so, instead of masking your cowardice in some bullshit veneer of newfound sophistication. Getting old is no excuse to stop caring and it’s never too late to do something constructive with your existence. Fuck that ‘no future’ shit, the future already got here—and you should be grateful, because this is your chance! Start a garden, start a band, become a social worker, a volunteer, a performance artist, anything! Be a good friend! Just don’t be one of those boring worthless fucks sitting around going ‘Oh, bluh, I remember when I wanted to set the world on fire.’ That’s so cynical, dismissing passion as just a piece of street cred with an expiration date that you paste into your little scrapbook when you’ve gotten lazy and complacent. If the next generation’s too busy taking its own photo and making ‘ironic’ racist jokes then I wanna see us geezers starting nursing-home riots and fucking up The Man’s shit like our long-ass lives depend on it. Get arrested, have crazy sex, make lame comics like this one. Read a book and make yourself a little smarter. Do whatever you gotta do to keep those fires burning. Old-age movement, motherfuckers! ‘Movement’ is the operative word! It’s not too late until you’re dead! (And if it was only ever about the music to you, then I don’t wanna fuckin’ know you.)