By the time hair is growing on your ball sack and the liquid dripping out from under your armpits is smelling like a million locker rooms, you're having to sneak out and spend all your allowance money on meat. Fucking meat! You hate it, and yet you have no fucking idea why you are so compelled to do so. While your friends talk twenty-four hours a day about sex and trying to get laid, your mind wanders; and you realize that you're doubly cursed--you need sex just as badly as they do, but you need raw meat even more.
But the worst thing is nobody else needs raw meat. They only need sex.
In my 150 years on this earth, I have pretty much seen it all. I've been to every state and damn near every country. I've taken cruise ships to Alaska, gotten off and jumped aboard fishing vessels headed for the artic. I've hitched back through the tundra, south through the Canadian Rockies, stolen a horse and rode it down through Montana. I've done the whole Taiwan secret beach thing, walked the Great Wall, dove the Great Barrier Reef, disco'd in Indonesia with Kiwis. I've been on Safaris, tried the surf off of Cape Town, did my best Cary Grant impersonation in Morocco. I've snuck into communist Russia and made damn sure I was there when the wall came down. I survived the Trump presidency in America, for Christ's sake.