OK, you young whippersnappers, it’s showtime. There’s a bounty on your head and you are being targeted. Your parents want you out, and the corporate world wants you in. They need to start dulling your senses and confusing the shit out of you while you’re still maleable. Because once you hit your 30s, you’ll start asking questions. We can’t have that!

It reminds me of when I was your age, back then they had the draft. You got a draft card when you turned 18, still too young to vote out the lousy bastards out who started the Vietnam conflict in the first place, but young enough to get your nuts blown off by a “Bouncing Betty.” Oh, and their kids weren’t available, they were in law school. How convenient.

I realized later in life that if you attempted to conscript any later than the 18 to 24 year old range, Canada would be a lot bigger country than it is now. So it goes, get them when they’re young and impressionable. As you are aware, they did a really good job on the kids coming home today from Iraq and Afghanistan. Real good!

Ever wonder why none of our political leaders, including the President, has never spent any time in uniform? I’m sure it’s just a coincidence. Oh, but they can send you off locked and loaded. You betcha!

But, I digress, kind of. You’re being called to fill the ranks of the troops that went before you. Even though most of them don’t know they’re going.There’s a spot for you waiting in front of that copy machine and the hope of an annual 2% increase until you can no longer control your bowels. If your lucky. Most likely, you will be mustered out when a fresh batch of recruits becomes available. Then you will be forced to survive and thrive by your own hand.

No womb to the tomb for you!

That’s when it gets good. Great, actually.To feel the thrill of thinking yourself out of a shit storm and feeling the blood course through your veins. You’ll be in the game. If your shoot opens. Yes, life in the fast lane. You will know the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. You will thrash and gnash and flail and wail and punch the air.

You will become careful, cunning and collected. Your eyes will narrow. You will think before you agree or commit. You will find yourself sitting across the table from adversaries that would eat their young right in front of you. When you push that last bit of musty air out of your failing lungs in your final minutes, you’ll know you gave as good as you got.

So what will it be? The fast lane? Or the breakdown lane? Or would you like to buy a bowel?