dealcatcher3
07-30-2013, 09:37 AM
Just one peanut butter and jelly sandwich doesn’t do it any more.
Driving a car doesn’t always sound like fun.
The average ten-year-old doesn’t have a clue who Bo and Luke Duke are.
Being bad is no longer cool.
You have friends who have kids.
Saturday mornings are for sleeping.
You are taller than the slide at the McDonald’s playland.
Your parents’ jokes are now funny.
You have once said, “Whatch-you talkin’ ’bout Willis?”
You have owned, and since disowned Michael Jackson’s Thriller.
Christmas starts to piss you off.
You would rather wear your dirty clothes again, ’cause mom is not there to do your laundry anymore.
Two words: parachute pants.
Naps are good.
Hitting girls is no longer considered flirting.
You have once deemed Space Invaders as “The best game ever”.
When you know that the machines in gas station bathrooms don’t dispense balloons.
When things go wrong, you can’t just yell, “Do-over!”
Playboy’s Playmate of the month is younger than you.
The only thing in your cereal box is... cereal.
You actually buy scarves, gloves, and sunscreen.
Your idea of fun parties now include Chips ’n’ Salsa and Snapple.
You leave concerts and ballgames early to beat the crowd.
You want clothes for Christmas.
You don’t want a Camaro because of the insurance premiums.
You remember when Saturday Night Live was funny.
You’ve bought an album on vinyl.
You remember seeing Star Wars when it first came out.
You read the “if you were born on this day in 1976 you are of legal age to buy alcohol” sign at the liquor store and recall attending a high school dance on that date.
You look in the surveillance camera monitor at the convenience store, wonder who that guy is standing at the counter with the bald spot, and then realize it is a shot of you from behind.
Driving a car doesn’t always sound like fun.
The average ten-year-old doesn’t have a clue who Bo and Luke Duke are.
Being bad is no longer cool.
You have friends who have kids.
Saturday mornings are for sleeping.
You are taller than the slide at the McDonald’s playland.
Your parents’ jokes are now funny.
You have once said, “Whatch-you talkin’ ’bout Willis?”
You have owned, and since disowned Michael Jackson’s Thriller.
Christmas starts to piss you off.
You would rather wear your dirty clothes again, ’cause mom is not there to do your laundry anymore.
Two words: parachute pants.
Naps are good.
Hitting girls is no longer considered flirting.
You have once deemed Space Invaders as “The best game ever”.
When you know that the machines in gas station bathrooms don’t dispense balloons.
When things go wrong, you can’t just yell, “Do-over!”
Playboy’s Playmate of the month is younger than you.
The only thing in your cereal box is... cereal.
You actually buy scarves, gloves, and sunscreen.
Your idea of fun parties now include Chips ’n’ Salsa and Snapple.
You leave concerts and ballgames early to beat the crowd.
You want clothes for Christmas.
You don’t want a Camaro because of the insurance premiums.
You remember when Saturday Night Live was funny.
You’ve bought an album on vinyl.
You remember seeing Star Wars when it first came out.
You read the “if you were born on this day in 1976 you are of legal age to buy alcohol” sign at the liquor store and recall attending a high school dance on that date.
You look in the surveillance camera monitor at the convenience store, wonder who that guy is standing at the counter with the bald spot, and then realize it is a shot of you from behind.