[satire] The 30th birthday letter to my twin

Dearest twin,

No doubt the grave news - that our fateful parallel journeys have encountered their thirtieth winters - has by now reached you. I fear these claims are more than mere hearsay: my wretched digits have already begun to curl, and the skin of my cheeks has sallowed and withered. My once youthful complexion, widely celebrated and oft affectionately remarked upon by friends and strangers alike, has languished and conceded to a jaundiced imposter. So too does my back weary; with muscles atrophied and bones stricken with decay, my very form has crumpled from its erst proud standing which had attracted the admiration of so many well-wishers, and the romance of very many bedmates. As my eyelids shrivel and my voice wanes, and the stupor of old age besots my once fierce and meritorious mind, the memories of my innumerable victories and inimitable achievements, which so multitudinously bestrew the history of my juvenile conquests, fade to obscured fragments of dwindled former greatness. My now corrupted soul, defiled by the pernicious vagaries of a wanton, dissolute existence, and debased, having become depraved; perverted; indecorously apes the unblemished spirit moulded in perfect (by some accounts, exceeding) replication of an almighty God who, bewildered by the divine creation of so virtuous and celestial a mortal manifestation, vowed nevermore to build men of such magnificent and terribly tremendous a temperament. My feet also ache.

I hope you are well.
Yours truly,
Tyson