Let’s be honest.
What’s the first thing we think of when centagenarians start giving out advice?
Speaking strictly for this bish right here, usually I’m too distracted to actually hear them detail what the big bang and Jesus were like. My attention can’t help but wander to the fact that they’re gasping for oxygen between every syllable. It’s not the creped skin, loss of faculties, or posture like a dead mantis slowly curling in on itself that bothers me about the elderly – not on an aesthetic level anyway. What bothers me is how many of them seem like one of those characters from Final Destination who’ve defied death against all odds. And now, even though they’re giving out life-advice, they seem unsure. Like they’re tiptoeing through their days just waiting for that 18 wheeler in front of them packed with lumber to unleash tree sized bouncing logs onto the freeway and then through their windshield and face. That’s how most “I lived past 100 and here’s how” old folk come across to me -like they aren’t sure they should be offering advice at all. Not when living that long just feels like a life sentence you curse god for not having been the death penalty instead.
But then I saw this dude:
Seriously, this dude looks younger than most 80-year-olds I’ve seen.
Although his diet and health routine seems stringent, it’s one of those where when you start doing it, life just improves on its own. And he seems less like he’s being abstemious and more like he’s just enjoying it as a way of life – the way it should be. Homie’s got all his bases covered: he does the daily walks for cardio, sticks with organic food that’s not covered in chemicals, and he knows he’s gotta feed more parts of his head than just the hole his teeth live in – hence the puzzles and books.
Admittedly, I don’t do all this stuff on his list of five foods:
Chocolate I quit because it’s on my “I don’t know how to moderate this thing” list.
But the other stuff I can probably manage. I’m open to it.
For example, honey’s not vegan, but it can be my exception. (Plus I feel like that’s a stupid rule I should ignore because sometimes bees end up having to go start a whole new hive when they don’t have enough room from honey overload. All they care about is doing the work – not considering the results all “OMG, we’re going to have a Scrooge McDuck coin-pool level of pollen vomit!”) They just want enough honey there. They’re not greedy. So I can manage that too, I think.
As for olive oil? I don’t like oily stuff. But I can plop some in my soup if it’s gonna help.
I guess.
See? Everything but chocolate that I wouldn’t normally do, I’m suddenly willing to shovel into my gullet. Why? Not because I want to live to 110. I don’t. But, assuming I don’t die from a freak traffic accident wherein I’m impaled with wood, I will probably get old one day. And when I do, I don’t want to feel like a living corpse. Or look like a prolapsed, withering anus. Or tell children how to win at life through a wrinkly mouth with a perimeter of spittle. I want to be so happy, healthy, and sharp like this dude that the young punks start taking notes on my “How to Immortal 101” lectures whenever I speak.
So, eff a green drink. Time for a revamp on health trends. I’mma market a new drink based on advice from this guy who refuses to die. I’ll even abbreviate it GOOCH to make it sound like that one swanky designer, but it really stands for Garlic, Olive Oil, Cinnamon, and Honey. Toss up a few ads of hot models holding this stuff while nonchalantly, zero-fckks-given style, traipsing into the yoga studio or work – and boom. Tagline:
“Be fashionably late for everything… Even death.”