Well ladies and gentlemen, I don’t know if you should count yourself lucky or otherwise when it comes to the daunting task of reading the second to the last dispatch in this series of self-serving blather about the last year in my 40’s.

I had pondered not even writing one.

Instead, I was going to write something about Star Wars.  It was only necessary since Solo hit the theaters this last weekend and I’ve already planted my butt in the rocking stadium seats twice while dumping about 64 ounces at a time of a cherry-vanilla flavored version of Diet Dr. Pepper down my gullet while coaxing my bladder with that plea I’ve made so many times before.

For what it’s worth, I’m still of the opinion that the best character ever created for that series of movies is the Millennium Falcon.  The newest installment of that movie series just added nitrous to my opinion.

None the less, waxing rhapsodic about Star Wars doesn’t really have anything to do with the waning days of my 40’s now, does it?

Star Wars, after all, is my Rosebud (aka McGuffin).  It’s a device that takes me back to that time I was 9 years old sitting in the Rialto Theater in Casper, Wyoming with a box of Hot Tamales in hand and a wad of the cinnamon flavored assault crammed lovingly into the aforementioned gullet.

It’s not a device that reminds me that I’m a day or two out from hitting 50.

No.

I have something else for that.

I have a piece of mail arriving in an unmarked envelope.  It says ‘Happy Birthday Randall’ on the outside.  It admonishes the US Postal Service not to bend it, because a card is enclosed.

My curiosity is peaked.  Maybe a loved one has sent me a gift card good for goods and services rendered in the tri-county area.

Maybe there’s an opportunity for me to round out my collection of cinematic brilliance on a digital platform.

Maybe I can get the car washed or my hair cut.

Well….

With baited breath and panty-soaked anticipation, I hustled my fireplug-like frame back on into the house and to my StudyTorium in order to see what new stuff I had just acquired.

I tore open the side of the perforated envelope with one fail swoop and proceeded to extract the contents in order to evaluate the content of my booty (all things being equal, that means two things).

Suffice to say, there was a card in there.

Suffice to say, the card can be used as an instrument for me to acquire a “Sporty Tote”.

Suffice to say, the content of my booty had more of a literal meaning when pondering the content of my booty, especially after a few spicy sausage biscuits chased by an ill-advised double dosage of Metamucil.

Ladies and gentlemen, for the last twelve months I’ve been posting various milestones that I’ve achieved in an effort to wrap up my forties.

I got a colonoscopy.

I got my vision fixed.

I saw my Astros win the World Series.

I upgraded my phone.

I attended some great concerts.

I said good bye to my beloved Pit Bull.

I did the math and figured out when I’ll be a millionaire.

The one thing I didn’t do, was the one thing that was suggested to me today.

At the ripe old age of 49 years and 363 days, I was given the opportunity to spend $16 a year in order to join a whole different wretched hive of scum and villainy.

Is that what this all boils down to, people?

The AARP?

I open up my ass to a rectal exam, my eyes to clarity, my ears to rock and roll, my mind to my financial future, my heart to my dog, and it all culminates in a little red card that tells others that I’m old enough to join a gang?

Tomorrow afternoon, I’m going to lunch with my wife and daughter to celebrate my birthday a day early.  I’ve been pondering where we would go.  It obviously has to be a place where I can get adult beverages and tasty vittles.  The numbers on the right side of the menu have to be consistent with the rigid budgetary demands of a future millionaire.  I was thinking about Mongolian barbeque, as a restaurant which specializes in that particular cuisine has recently opened up near the compound.

Given the arrival of that little red devil in the mail today, I’ve changed my mind.

We’re going to Chuck E. Cheese.

Thank you AARP, for capping off a monumental year with a reminder of why I was trying to make it memorable in the first place.  You’ve really brought this whole series of posts to a head with this little stunt you pulled.

Bastards.