Birth: Shit Happens

Infancy: Shit in my pants

Adoloscence: Who gives a shit?

Teenager: I don’t take no shit from anyone.

Twenties: I think I know something but I don’t know shit.

Artist Phase: I am the shit.

Artist Phase Ends: I am shit.

Career: I do, in fact, take shit.

Marriage: Get my shit together.

Three shots of Juan Julio and no condom: Little shit.

Parenthood: I’m covered in shit, but now I realize none of that other shit mattered.

Forties: God, I wish I could take a shit.

Divorce: We split up our shit.

Grandparenthood: Finally, you can experience all the shit you put me through.

Retirement: Was all that shit really worth it?

Home for the aged: Shit in my pants.

Death: The shit hits the fan.

For more of my shit, follow me on Twitter.

McSweeney’s was kind enough to publish my piece on my experiences at a recent heavy metal festival.

An Open Letter to the Guy Who Puked Next To Me at the Heavy Metal Festival.

Enjoy.