BEHAAAAHHHHH!!! That’s a noise old men make. I make that noise because I’m old. It’s also why my dong doesn’t work and I don’t believe in gravity. BYEAHHHHHHH!!! I’m at least 49, and that makes me so fucking old I can’t try anything new. I’ll probably only live another thirty to forty years! I’m old!


So old he doesn’t even know what Twitter is: Mike Wilbon.

I don’t read blogs because I don’t change habits. I still read my paper the old fashioned way: by the light of an electric bulb. I know some of you youngsters can’t believe it, but I still listen to all my music on CDs and shop at the Banana Republic. I don’t call coffee grandes or ventis or Yankees or whatever you call them. No, I still call it small medium and large, dinosaur that I am.

I’m even old when it comes to sports. Like, tragically old. I remember when there wasn’t a Poinsettia Bowl. I remember when baseball players could do steroids without an official investigation. I remember when Alex Rodriguez played for the Rangers. I remember the days when Ben Wallace played for the mighty Detroit Pistons.

I remember the Clinton administration–the first one! I’m old, people!

I don’t use laptops, or wireless internet, or your iPhone. I still use a Blackberry. It’s at least three years old. Again, I know: I should cry when I see Jurassic Park, because it brings back memories. I can’t help it! I’m 49!

I don’t even know what HD is. What’s that stand for? High-definition or something? I don’t even have the shoes with the iPod in them. Nope. I do my running the old fashioned way: without computer chips in my shoes. Just carbon date me if you like and put me in a museum. That’s what being 49 will do to you!

My car? It’s a 2003. No, it doesn’t run on sabretooth piss, just regular gasoline, though I cry a little when I fill up my tank. After all, the fossilized remains of my childhood playmates are what’s keeping my car going! I’m 49! I’m not changing much!

And when I pay my bills, I do it the old fashioned way: online, just like people were doing years ago. They wouldn’t let me pay with gold coins anymore, so I let my pet and personal deliveryman the Pterodactyl go. He’s doing six shows a week in Vegas now. I’m old!

I’ll actually be honest with you: I’m so old, I don’t even have a blu-ray dvd player. I know! It’s embarrassing, but true. I’m just Captain Cretaceous Period, watching my dusty DVDs of movies made in 2002 on my sofa.

I even remember who Jude Law is.

Man, I’m old.

Mike Wilbon is so old he’s forgotten why he wrote this piece, or that he won’t read it because it’s on a blog. He writes for the Washington Post.