August: The Month of My Birth
by Brock LaBorde
August, 2004

     So last month, Chris Trew challenged me to respond to his editorial letter in a timely fashion. But what Chris doesn't realize is that I'm all grown up now. Yes, you read that right. I am an adult. And adults don't respond to petty taunts and silly challenges. However, what I will do is share with all of you how I came to be an adult in less than 31 days. It is for this reason that I'd like to subtitle this month's letter "One Man's Journey into Adulthood and Becoming a Man, Too."

#1. Adults care a lot about getting married.
An old priest I was mugging the other day told me that the greatest thing a man can ever do is fall in love and breed. It made me think about my own life and how I hadn't gotten married yet. So I thanked the priest for not screaming too loudly and also for carrying so much cash in his shoes and I immediately set out to attend as many weddings as possible. In the last month, I've attended over 102 weddings in over 32 states. I wasn't invited to any of them, but I still showed my support nonetheless. Along the way, I've learned a lot about what makes 2 fat people think that they love each other and I've also learned a lot about the penalties in various states for violating dress codes in wedding ceremonies. As it turns out, it is NEVER proper to show up at a wedding wearing only a baseball cap and sandals. Now I know and now you know, too.

#2. Adults know when and where to bury things.
Before I became an adult, any time I was slightly upset or mildly happy, I would bury something or someone. I'm handy with a shovel and I live in a large empty field, so you can understand how over the years I've managed to bury 6 television sets, 23 pairs of women's shoes, my good friend Derek, 8 toilet seats, a dozen shovels, a nice Mormon family from Ohio, and every ballpoint pen that I've ever come in contact with. But I recently found out that adults only bury things at funeral ceremonies. And it costs a lot of money and has all sorts of shitty paperwork involved. So now that I'm all grown up, I've been digging up everything I buried. Last week when I dug up my good friend Derek, I discovered that someone had stolen him and replaced him with a useless old skeleton. They even dressed the skeleton in my good friend Derek's clothes! Children, when will you learn? Hopefully right now.

#3. Adults drive nothing but the fanciest automobiles.
For the past 6 years, I have driven a 1973 Plymouth Duster that had no doors and a nest full of raccoons in the trunk. I finally noticed that I don't see any other adults driving a car like that. So I whipped out my chainsaw and chopped my car up into a few hundred smaller pieces and slyly deposited those pieces in the trashcans of several neighborhood department stores. No one knew it happened and I was able to dispose of the car in only 2 months! Of course, since I don't have a "job" that "earns money" (I visit various cafes and watch pigeons do it all day), I couldn't afford to buy a fancy car, so I had to steal one - a 2005 Lexus Luxurious 3200. But don't worry, I disabled the alarm BEFORE I stole the car, so my stupid next-door neighbor won't know that I'm the thief because he never heard the alarm go off. Boy, he's going to be so jealous when he sees me, but that's all part of being an adult, which brings me to the next point.

#4. Adults crave mountains of gold and jewels.
The average adult begrudgingly spends a majority of his or her time working at a place of business that promises to compensate the adult with a meager paycheck every couple of weeks. These miniscule earnings are then scraped together and fortified with high-interest credit cards so that the adult can purchase things like bricks of gold and fine silk tapestries. And no adult can be satisfied with just one brick or one tapestry. No, they want to own every ounce and mile of the planet Earth. I now know that my life will be incomplete unless I join these average adults in their endless quest to possess the entire world. I want diamond-studded clothes hangers, limited-edition brand name cereals, and lots of state-of-the-art gadgetry that allows me to grill salmon while giving my bikini area a close shave. And I will not stop my desires until I am either dead or the owner of everything. Or both.

     And hey, what do you know, Chris Trew, my esteemed co-worker and arch-nemesis, I even wrote this one day before the beginning of the month instead of at the end when the robot who updates our site deletes month-old material. We really need to do something about that robot, by the way. Lately, he's begun to think that he's in the year 2037 and everything I put up on the site gets immediately deleted. Does anybody out there know a good robot repairman? Hopefully one who works for free and doesn't mind that our robot is imaginary. Thanks and stay tuned, Studio 8 readers. There are cool things ahead.

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