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It will be interesting to see if 18yo young adults have the fortitude to vote their own mind instead of the dictates of their overbearing caregivers who still see the budding young adult as but their immature youngster!
 
Too young and immature to buy a rifle but not too young to vote or serve in the military. Where is the logic for that?

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These punks won't bother to make the effort to vote. Why drag yourself to the polling place when snorting a condom in the basement is so much easier, and so much more important to your search for immediate gratification?
 
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I wouldn't know. It's something so beyond stupid that I can't even imagine why anyone would ever want to do such a thing. But we must respect these young and brilliant students who are the future of America.

And of course nvshooter, et al., you never ate something like blood pudding/crickets/worms or smoked a cigarette/cigar/weed or took a drink of beer/wine/hard liquor or swallowed a goldfish on a dare during your youth?
 
Paul Ericson (who is either a millionaire, in prison or dead by now) and I attempted to smoke a cigarette when we were about six years old (1962 or '63). My parents don't smoke; never did. His did, so we figgered we'd give it a shot. He stole a few cigs from his mom's pack and we tried it. I coughed so violently and for so long that I never had any desire to try to smoke again.

I have never used any sort of illicit drug-- ever. I began to drink beer when I was 14, but always under the watchful eye of my dad. We'd tip one or two after we'd spent the day playing golf. I have no idea what is blood pudding. I've never eaten worms, crickets or goldfish.

Last time I got rip-snortin' drunk (last time ever) was in November 1984. Nowadays, I less than barely drink spirit alcohol. I will mix-up about a quart of Negroni (1:1:1 Campari, gin and sweet vermouth), and have it in the icebox for a year or more before I finish it. That last bender took away from me any desire to be so badly obama-faced again.

My youth was a wonderful time because my parents were always there to make sure I was on the right track. I got my dad's 48" belt (folded in half for easier whippin') across my bare obama when I had it coming, but only then. I have absolute proof that God exists because only He could have given to me the two parents I had when I was comin' up. My mom has since passed away, but my dad is still on the other end of the phone and we talk pretty much every weekend. I'm 60, he's 88 and I am dam-ned happy he is still there for me to ask of him the advice that only a good father can give to his beloved son.

I have never been arrested; not even close. My last brush with the law was in February 2001. I was pulled-over for allegedly doing 91 in a 75 zone. The trooper reduced it to 85; I paid some small fine and that was that. Have never had any traffic troubles since then, and I have driven 18-wheelers in Kalifonia for several hundred thousand miles. Probably over 500,000 miles since the Fall of 2000 in just Kalifonia, and over 2.5 million miles nationwide since I became a first-seat trucker in January 1994.

I do not consider my life to have been dull, drab or boring. In my mind, to NOT have had the common juvenile and young-adult troubles is a victory. A victory for my parents' raising of me. They never failed me-- not for one second. If anyone failed, it's me. And for that, I have to live with the wrong decisions I took along the way after I graduated high school. My dad tried to steer me right, but he also let me do the wrong thing. He knew I'd figger-out I'd made a mistake, and he was there and ready to rescue me if things got really bad or became dangerous. And he still is...
 
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