By BILLY MURPHY
Laugh Lines

For those people who have seen me in person, you know I look pretty good for a 54-year-old man. Problem is, I'm 41.

As I fight all the battles typical of a person whose body has lost the power for regeneration, I am starting to realize there are lots of things on this earth that I am getting too old for, where patience has gone the way of John Tesh's Career. Here is my list so far.

I am getting too old for politeness, diplomacy or being let down easy. Just tell me. Give me the hard news, the facts. Don't tell me about a fire that is ravaging some apartment complex in some suburb and that I am going to have to wait until your 11 o'clock news to find out exactly where. Don't preface everything with, “I've got some bad news for you.” It's like every ex-future ex-girlfriend I ever had who prefaced her “dumping me” speech with, “Billy, you know you are a great guy.” I don't need an icebreaker when meeting Satan.

I am getting too old for wimps. Buck up and take it like a man. Quit complaining about bad cell phone reception. Quit crying about how expensive vacations are. Quit whining about your online connection, your slower Pentium, and your need for a bigger hard drive because you are running out of room. Is it really that much of a pain waiting the three extra seconds for your game of Solitaire to load? Grow up.

Quit thinking that your stupid submission to “The Vent” is gonna make a difference. You've had it too easy if you never had a car without carpeting or if you never thought that air conditioning was turning your pillow over on the cool side.

I am getting too old for hype. I stand and look around and think, “What morons are falling for all this loud noise?” Did no one worry about kids and violence before Columbine? Did no one recognize women in sports before World Cup Soccer? All our country is anymore is a bunch of bandwagon jumpers.

When did making a talk show or getting a free trip to Disney World become the ultimate success on earth? My twin brother and I could break the world record for two-man Polish sausage-eating tomorrow and by the weekend we'd be invited into a menage a cinq with Tommy Hilfiger, Katie Couric and Mickey Mouse.

I am getting too old for making excuses. I don't have the courtesy anymore to say, “No, I was already awake.” Well, I was asleep, okay? And yes, it was a bother. I don't make excuses about my fashion and I do realize what I left the house dressed like.

And those telemarketers that call my house, they hear a click before they get to their first comma. I don't care if you substitute Pepsi for Coke and if you're not looking, I will sneak a feast into your movie theater and leave the Krystal boxes on your floor.

Actually, getting old is a pretty good thing.

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