I just want to make one thing perfectly clear:

I would hit it so hard. I would wreck him. He would need to go to the hospital. He would probably sprain various body parts. I know his bones are getting weak, so this is just a fair warning. You think you’ve had heart problems in the past, Macca? Yeah, nothing compared to what I would do to you. But guess what? It would be so worth it. I’ll elaborate more later. Oh, you think there’s no more I can say? How wrong you are. Oh, you don’t want me to elaborate? Get a ticket to ride, cuz I don’t care.

A lot of younger women seem to go for older men. This isn’t a fad, this is because men in their twenties are like Elmo. They’re fun and cute but they’re kind of annoying and ultimately confused. I’m sorry, are you bothered by my generalization? THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD STOP MAKING IT TRUE.

I’ll be kind and say that you guys probably have good intentions but you always wind up in the failboat. (Note: I realize that not all guys in their 20s are like this. If you’re not like this, you’re of a dying breed! Thank you for existing!) The worst is when you act immature and we’re surprised. I’m sure we do a lot of bitchy things that you hate but one thing that we don’t do is leave you hanging. We don’t randomly stop texting you. (Also, we don’t think of watching you and your bros play Guitar Hero as a date.)

This is why I need to marry Paul McCartney.

Yeah, specious logic on my part. Really I’ve always wanted to marry Paul McCartney. And although he’s aging much like Judy Dench, I still think he’s handsome as fuck. He’s smart and funny and creative and kind. At 60-whatever he’s still the cute Beatle…well…I mean I know half of them are dead, but you know what I mean. Paul McCartney is cheeky enough to get away with dating someone like me, by which I mean, someone with a 4 decade age difference. No one thinks Macca is gross. Were he to date me I’m sure most people would find it charming. I know I would. He’s younger than my dad! (OK by like a year or two, shhh.)

Look at that face. Fucking look at it! I would hit it so hard that he would time travel, back to the date where this photo was taken, stop and pose just like this, and then time travel back to his current sexy self. We would have amazing kinky Beatles sex. I would be the walrus. He could goo-goo-gajoob whatever he wanted.

The oldest man I ever dated was 36. I was 20. And by dated I mean sleep with after a night of drug induced madness. Since then I’ve managed to stay within my age bracket but it’s not really by choice. I just haven’t met anyone older who wants to date me. Or I don’t want to date them. We’re like those boats at the end of The Great Gatsby, floating carelessly into the past, scoping out the bar at Bardot for better looking people to hit on. It’s a love story of the saddest kind. The kind without any love. Or story, for that matter.

Hmmm…maybe his bones aren’t so weak after all! Maybe I’m amazed.

I don’t think Macca will risk another marriage. Maybe he’ll never find another love like the one he found in Linda. Maybe he just hasn’t met me yet and therefore hasn’t decided. Maybe I’m living in a dream world. Maybe we all are. Maybe this is all a dream inside Ringo Starr’s head. Maybe I am Ringo Starr. Who can say, really?

Paul McCartney — Scissor Sisters
Nod Your Head — Paul McCartney