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In Eight Years, Nineties, Babies Start Turning. Forty.
i just want to open this final will segment with a horrifying statement that i could not afford to live alone with, so i'm making you all live with it too. In eight years, nineties, babies start turning. Forty. Get up. I'll be 32 next week. That's they say, that's your prime, right? Like 27 to throw water. R something like yours. It ri't forty straight now. You even say i'm at the end of my prime. Well, come back.