You heard it here first! PAY IT FORWARD has moved here, because all other domain names have been taken by people who want to talk about good deeds and financial planning and all kinds of other horseshit. The new site will be updated far more regularly than I featured PAY IT FORWARD posts here (uh, only THREE POSTS in 2011? WEAK), and there won’t be any personal content, just the forwarded goodness you’ve come to know and love. Let it be known that I am open to ads on the new site, just so it’s not a surprise down the line. That is, uh, assuming anyone will ever want to advertise there. Heh.

ENJOY!

Twelve days into the new year, and I’m hittin’ you up with a PAY IT FORWARD, Internet. Don’t say I never gave you anything!

Except for all those months when I didn’t post any PAY IT FORWARDs. You can say I never gave you anything then.

Looking through my designated PAY IT FORWARD folder in my email, I am sad to say that some of the best ones contain image links that are now broken, meaning that they have gone to that great inbox in the sky, which looks a bit like this:

Most of the now-defunct forwards were given to me courtesy of Wog (not her real name), so, Wog, if you’re reading (and you remember that you told me to give you that nickname to protect your identity), I’m sorry. And sad. And hoping you are currently doing something much better with your time than reading this.

I also haven’t forgotten about the rest of you who’ve sent me forwards, as they are all still lovingly filed away and waiting patiently to annoy the ever-loving shit out of us. Today’s installment comes to us courtesy of Caitie, who submitted it over a year ago. Caitie! You still there?

Hey — if there’s going to be embarrassing silence, it might as well be super neat-o keen.

Today’s forward is one that involves quaint old people and the sage advice they give us. Before we get to that, though, I’d like to take a moment to share with you how tired I get of people pretending that being really old is peaceful and Zen and gives you some sort of other-worldly insight to bestow upon others like so many Werther’s Originals. Sure, old people have gleaned a whole lifetime of knowledge, but my friends, getting old sucks. It is no kind of reward for anything, really, unless your idea of a reward is forgetting your grandkids’ names and losing the ability to digest meat. There are those incredibly lucky olds who manage to cheat the system and are still relatively healthy and living independently at the age of 95 or whatever, and in fact, I knew one of them when I was young. She was a friend of the family who lived all alone in a giant old Victorian rowhouse, filling her days with cooking, gardening, and bird-watching. And then she had a massive stroke that killed her ability to do all of that, and she died not too long afterwards (from what I can’t remember, but I imagine it was something along the lines of BEING ROYALLY PISSED THAT SHE HAD SUCCESSFULLY ENDURED SO MANY YEARS ONLY TO BE SUBJECTED TO SPONGE BATHS BY A CRABBY ORDERLY).

Anyhoo. That’s how I feel about aging. You can still do it gracefully, sure, but let’s call a spade a spade and stop pretending like it’s some sort of awesome pot of gold at the end of the life rainbow, or whatever. See?! I’m only thirty-five and already I’ve lost my ability to craft a decent fucking metaphor. Of course, I could never really do it in the first place. Whatever! Where the fuck are my hard candies?!

Inspired by my grandmother, my only goal for old age is to have a constant supply of Brach’s on hand.

Onward to the forward!

Yeah, because if there’s one thing old people do really well, it’s wait patiently. Christ — have you ever seen old people waiting for a table in a restaurant? No? That’s because they don’t. And if you’ve ever been a server, you know you’d best be bringing them their food 4.2 seconds after they order it. The clock’s a-tickin’ for the elderly, folks, and they don’t have time to mess around.

Also, way to go with the sentence structure up there, forward: he had his hair fashionably combed AND shaved each morning? Man, he WAS well-poised.

Oh, and just in case you were naive enough to believe otherwise, no, this is not and never will be “AWESOME.”

So…he was really excited for about 20 minutes and then whined around and made excuses when it actually came time to take responsibility?

Also, what kind of shithole is this? Sheets on the windows? I guess you need something to obscure the garish view of the DirectTV dish hanging from the fire escape.

Ignoring for a moment the distraction of the randomly placed apostrophes, I can say with certainty that I admire this sentiment. I can also say with certainty that no creaky old person in the history of the universe has ever felt this way, unless there’s some secret joy to having a colostomy bag that I’m unfamiliar with.

So…I guess the old guy is still talking? And we’re supposed to believe that, at 92, he can remember even half of the shit that’s happened to him in his life? Well, have fun sipping on tea and recounting all those awesome times during the Depression, dude. And don’t forget the race riots. Those were sweet.

Oh! All those ignorant people who’ve been filling their old age accounts with Alzheimer’s and incontinence! FOOLS!

Ugh. Fuck you, forward.

OK, I’m confused. He’s talking about jerking off now, right?

Number 5 FTW!

Sorry. I didn’t hear what you just said.

So, just when I was about to say that this forward wasn’t too horribly bad, it pulls a triple whammy in the last few sentences. Terrible grammar? CHECK. Empty bullshit predictions? CHECK. Snotty-ass sentiment to tie it all together? CHECKITY FUCKING CHECK.

And just so you know, yes, forward, I do have other plans.

Brace yourself, Internet. Believe it or not, it’s PAY IT FORWARD! time again.

I’m so excited, I just OakRidged in my leisure suit.

I know, I KNOW! It’s been so long! I’m pretty certain this is the first official PAY IT FORWARD! of 2011, and I’d check my archives to be sure except that it would make me sad to know that I’ve neglected one of my favorite things in the world for eight solid months. BOO!

Please to temper your anticipation, though, because you must remember: we are still dealing with email forwards here. Soul-killing, hope-crushing, eyeball-searing email forwards. There is a good chance your sense of humor will be flatlining by the end of this blog post. And for that, I am truly sorry.

I’m also truly sorry for Flatliners. Anyone remember that movie? Awful.

Before we begin, make sure your eye-rolling muscles are nice and stretched and limber. I don’t want any injuries, and we’re all a bit rusty. Here we go!

Today’s installment came to me courtesy of a random family member…I think. I’ve had it saved on my desktop so long that I sort of can’t remember. SHAME! So if you sent this to me, let me know & I will place the blame credit where it belongs.

Yep, it’s one of those horrendous slideshow deals that overtakes your whole computer when you click on the attachment. And there’s music! Of course there’s music. I mean, how else will you be sufficiently embarrassed in front of all your coworkers while you frantically search for the ESC key?

Also, as you can tell by the whimsically tilted letters in the word “CHILDREN,”shit is about to get insufferable up in here.

(One more thing: “Author unknown”? HA. Oh, OK. But thank goodness “Tommy’s Window” took the time to copyright it. Christ.)

Yeah, talk about price shock! Or maybe sticker shock, which is the actual phrase, but maybe Tommy and/or his Window do not have the necessary copyrights required to use it.

I’m also kind of confused about the cost of raising a kid “for a middle income family.” Wouldn’t the cost of raising a kid be the same for any family, regardless of income level? Isn’t that why this whole “cost of raising a kid” thing is (supposed to be) so shocking? Are poor kids cheaper? Rich kids more expensive? So many stupid questions I will never know the stupid answers to!

I don’t know. Seems a little steep.

Hey — has anyone seen that poisoned Kool-Aid I left sitting right hereOHGODNO!

Yeah, I know. Like we didn’t see this grossness coming.

For the record, you can get three out of those four things (glimpses of God, giggles under the covers, more love than your heart can hold) by smoking peyote. Just saying.

Isn’t it funny how creepy these things become when you imagine them applying to a grown-ass adult instead of a child?

“Have you met Todd in Purchasing yet?” “Yeah, he spent, like, 20 minutes yesterday telling me how awesome clouds are, and his hands are always covered in jelly. Fucking sociopath.”

HAHA OH, HONEY, DADDY LOST ALL OUR MONEY IN THE STOCK MARKET SO IT’S REALLY GREAT THAT YOU LIKE DRINKING OUT OF THE NEIGHBOR’S GARDEN HOSE BECAUSE THAT’S WHERE WE’LL BE GETTING OUR KEY NUTRIENTS FROM NOW ON.

Again, that seems steep, especially considering you will still be expected to do adult bullshit like make dinner and get your period.

OK. So. This photo is another prime example of how creepy things get when you replace kids with adults. Just picture the three kids in this picture with three people you work with. Go ahead and vomit. I’ll wait for you.

Whoa, smug much, kid? He seems to be saying yeah, you’ll take that fucking glittery pasta wreath and YOU’LL LIKE IT, even after it absorbs too much moisture after a humid summer in storage and becomes riddled with black mold. Oh, you want to throw it away? Only if you want to throw away PART OF MY CHILDHOOD. That’s what I thought. BOOM!

My kid never acts like I’m a hero for doing any of the above, and she shouldn’t, because that shit is lame.

First step? First word? AWESOME. The rest of it? I’ll need a stand-in, thanks.

Whoa, what? When you use the phrase “limbs in your obituary,” it’s time to reconsider your metaphor.

Also, not real sure what that “criminal justice” and “human sexuality” thing is all about. Not sure I want to delve too deeply into it, either. Basically, it sounds like parenting is a lot more interesting for some of you out there. Cripes.

Oh, yeah, God-like for sure. Remember that one time in the Bible when God chaperoned Jesus’s slumber party? And who can forget the time He totes grounded Jesus for getting crucified? He took away his cell phone and everything!

Ugh. Gross. Shut up, Tommy, with your gross old hairy wrist.

Also, a link to the website! Goodbye, next three hours of my life!

BTW, I totally went to that site. Of course I did. And while there, I read this brilliant sentence: “We hope you’ll take time to enjoy an appetizing, fresh, and revitalizing banquet of life through our unique and inspiring PowerPoint and Flash Presentations.” Sounds delicious!

Remember to take a clean plate each time you visit the banquet of life.

That’s it for this installment, Internet! Whew — did that feel good. I promise not to lapse so horribly in my PAY IT FORWARD! duties ever again.

Unless you need me too after reading this entry, in which case, I totally understand.

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Oh, Internet, I know. I KNOW! I know I have been so incredibly remiss when it comes to posting new PAY IT FORWARDs, but with all the holiday madness/germ-having/car-barfing/house-selling that’s been going on, I’ve had my hands a bit full. But you’re not the only ones who suffer as a result of my non-posting! No PAY IT FORWARDS means no outlet for my overflowing bounty of sarcasm, which is quite a dangerous thing. If I don’t get the smartassery out of my system online, it starts to surface in other areas of my life, like at work or, say, the afternoon daycare pick up.

Hey, Emma — my grandma called. She wants her fugly red ruffled turtleneck back. WHAT?! Oh, sack up, Emma, for real.

Have you ever had a particular food completely ruined for you by, say, a sneaky stomach bug that surfaced mere moments after a meal (hello, scrambled eggs it took me 15 years to learn to love again), or perhaps an ill-advised overindulgence of alcohol (I’m looking your way, fettuccine alfredo), or maybe even morning sickness (get the FUCK out of here, lobster)?

Thanks.

Well, today is the day an email forward is going to ruin a whole assload of food for you, Internet. If you feel vaguely dirty eating a banana now, you’re going to have some serious issues after we’re through with this shit.

Go away, MOM! I’m getting my daily recommended allowance of potassium!