Today I turned a little bit older, and already I am filled with the desire to shout "Young Whippersnappers!" and then loudly encourage people to avoid walking on my lawn. In my quest to enjoy the day, I decided to edit all the fluffy, happy stories. You know, instead of the story about the kid who got his head cut off by an elevator, or the rise in child molestations, or anything with the words "Iraq" or "insurgents."

What's my favorite story so far today, you ask? The "Chicken Noodle Soup" dance. It is to the macarena what Aaron Carter is to Nick Carter. (That is to say: Newer, dumber, and far more white.) Because even though the "Chicken Noodle Soup" dance is apparently "the craze" in places like Harlem, it looks like an epileptic math professor created it. I'm forserious.

Kids, you know your fad has reached its saturation point when CBS creates graphics explaining the "steps" of the dance. I kid you not.

For the choreographically impaired, that loosely translates to:

"Jazz hands, Jazz hands, Grand Mal Seizure, Jazz hands."

I do not believe I'm being unkind when I say that this dance closely resembles something someone from Satan's Alley thought up while they were drunk and/or high and/or had their legwarmers bunched around their ankles.

You kids do realize that you look like the tourette's afflicted lovechild of Bob Fosse and Napoleon Dynamite, do you not? Because I may be turning older today, but I know dorkaliscious when I see it. And you, my children, have become parodies of your own youth.

Whippersnappers!