As I am fast approaching what the people call middle age, I have been taking a lot of time to think about what my life has been, the things I’ve done, the things I may still do, and the things that I may have missed out on completely.

Mortality is a real concern now. Gone are the carefree days of doing whatever, whenever, without concern to how it will affect the rest of my life. Now, every single personal choice I make ties directly into how much longer I will live. Grim? Perhaps, but real. And you’re not helping.

I quit smoking because I’ve seen what cancer does to people and the families of those people, but you continue to suck down a pack every 20 minutes. And while we both know that smoking isn’t the only way you get to the big Casino, it’s doesn’t help. It’s not as if sucking down smoke PREVENTS disease. And while I don’t want to sound like a hypocrite—because I’d start smoking again tomorrow if they told me it wouldn’t kill me, I can’t see why people continue to do it with full knowledge of what it could lead to. Especially people that relight extinguished butts. That’s just plain nasty and it STINKS. Oh God, does it stink.

I quit drinking because I want to keep an eye on my liver and save a few bucks but you have to base every decision on whether or not there will be booze present. I understand that there’s not a lot to do here in the beautiful city we call home, but at the end of the day it comes down to this: bars. All there is to do in your free time is go to a bar. If you are a guy that has decided to stop smoking and drinking, then you have nowhere to go. This also lessens the chances of meeting dames, though at my age I don’t really want to meet the type of dame you meet in a bar. Things are dire.

Bingo. It’s illegal, it’s not illegal. I don’t know. What exactly is the deal again? Why does the state find it so disastrous to let my aunt use her utility money to possibly win a few bucks at the slots? We all know that at the end of the day if the fancy white men in suits could figure out a way to line their pockets properly, there would be bingo casinos on every corner. And I only mention the white men in suits because the black men in suits end up spending too much money on the suits and go to jail. The way I see it, if it’s legal to suck smoke into your lungs and it’s legal to drink delicious triple malted poison, then I should be able to play a little blackjack without ending up on the news.

Stop going to places outside the safe and loving arms of the United States and then acting surprised when you are kidnapped or killed. You should be aware that people in other parts of the world aren’t impressed by your American-ness. In fact, it makes you a target. Your freedom of speech and your right to the pursuit of happiness? That only works on home base, sweetheart. Once you hop outside the borders, no one gives a shit whether you’re a Twihard or a Gleetard— they’re going to stab you. Smarten up.

Alright, squares, I guess that’s all for this week. You can go back to your title loan commercials and rooting for college teams even though you didn’t go to that school. Me? I’m going to concentrate on staying alive. And I don’t mean continuing to live—I mean the awesome sequel to Saturday Night Fever. Sylvester Stallone directed it. Did you know that? You’re welcome.

J’Mel Davidson is the founder of a local improv comedy troupe called The Feminist Debutante Guild. You can send him the love—or a bingo card—via editor@bhamweekly.com or heinousclown@gmail.com.