Old ladies are dirty pigs.

*Update: July 17/08. Everyone go over to Slicksumbitch to see my guest post today!

Yes, that's correct. Old ladies are dirty pigs. So are young ladies as a matter of fact, but I really don't mind that one at all.

Now, feminazis, before you get your underarm hair in a braid, just let me explain, ok?

Part of my employment responsibilities include care of all of my County small facilities on their own wells. As such, I make the rounds to the 20+ community halls, arena's, and the like every week. My timing couldn't have been worse on the one. You see, I walked into a women's institute meeting.

Local women's institutes are a support group that's a throw back to old times when women didn't have any rights. Such as the rights to vote, to wear shoes, to speak, and to generally live a comfortable life.

Great strides were made by these women then, which is good, except I really wish that the pendulum hung in the middle now, instead of far off in the other direction that make out men to be evil and in need of horrid torture. But I digress.

You see, the women that make up these institutes are also throw backs to those times. I believe the average age was about 106. As I walked into the building, all talking stopped and all eyes were on me."Look!" one shouted. "A man!"

As I walked into the building with my basket full of tools, the front door shut behind me, of it's own accord. You know, like you see in scary ghost horror flicks. "Just here to inspect the water system" I said, moving cautiously forward. It was then I felt a sharp pain in my behind.

I looked at my bum to see a bony hand clamped with vice like strength, attached to someone who could easily have been my great grandma. A toothless maw opened, and said "hello there young man!"

I panicked. I bolted, leaving a swath of jeans in the granny's hands. I saw with dismay that she took them and put them to her face and took a deep inhale. So disgusting. I ran towards the basement door, and salvation, through a sea of reaching and grasping liver spotted hands and the sounds of decrepit cat calls.

I finally made it to the basement door, threw it open, ran inside and closed it behind me. I wedged a few concrete blocks behind it, and finally, I was safe.

I looked down at myself. Half my jeans were gone, my shirt was missing, and I was covered in scratches left by gnarled, yellowed nails. I had to get out of there!

I opened the tiny window and squeezed my way out. Looking around, I could see nobody. Freedom! I got to my feet and ran towards the car and my salvation, when the grand pooba of the grannies stepped out in front of me.
"We paid for you and you're staying!" she screeched, her hand out in a defiant stop gesture. I continued my desparate journey to the car, only to be knocked flat on my ass by an incredibly powerful 86 lb woman.

She straddled my chest, and yelled "Now get back in there and do your job! And get into costume for fucks sake!"

"I don't know what the hell your talking about lady! I'm just a County worker! All I wanted to do was check the water system!"

"You mean you're not from Chipndales exotic dancers?"

"NO!"

"Oh sorry sonny."

The old lady got off my chest and waddled back inside.

That was the bad part of the story. The good? Later that evening, I found $340.00 worth of bills had been stuffed down my undies.

I'm booked to do a women's institute show next week.

Old dog, new trick.

What a weekend this has been so far. I've seen two things that have affirmed my position on getting old, and it's given me an idea.

Thing #1

You ever seen a really, really, really old lady? We're talking about wispy white hair, hunched back, withered liver spotted skin, medicinal smell, the crinkle of diapers when she walks, that sort of thing? Friday, her mother was ahead of me in a check out line.

This old coot wanted to buy a lottery ticket. Not a daily keno or a 649, nothing like that. No. She purchased a cash for life.

I'm betting money that the cash for life people would JIZZUM in their pants if a 107 year old mummified old coot won.

I guess your brain really does turn to much when your body goes to dust.

Thing #2

Today, a friend of my fathers called me to help him pick up a riding lawnmower that was getting repaired. This guy is no spring chicken. He's in his late 60's and his wife is 75. When I arrived, I saw his wife, standing beside her car. Sitting in a lawn chair beside the car was his wife's aunt. She's not quite as old as lottery ticket lady, but I'm still nothing more than a sperm compared to her.

As luck would have it, she couldn't walk. She blamed it on some sort of pills her doctor gave her. So guess who had to carry old Betty big bottom through a huge house and up a spiral stair case?

I did suggest a winch through the top window. That wasn't appreciated.

A few years ago my childhood dog was nearing 16. She had a pancreatic infection, or it was cancer. Either way she was in terrible pain and there was no amount of medical help in the world that was going to set her right. She was humanely euthanized. She was in my arms when the vet gave her the needle, in the arms of the person she loved and cared for the most. She was relieved of a never ending pain without causing any more for her.

Right now I enjoy a good quality of life. I'm healthy, I'm happy, and I'm strong. That could change at any moment. I could be hit by a bus, or fall off a building, or just get old, senile and incontenant.

When you end the suffering of a family pet, it's called the final act of love. When you do the same for a human loved one, it's called murder.

The hypocritical double standard of todays society aside, If my senior years are spent drooling and shitting myself while a Sharon, Lois and Bram clone band sing retarded songs to me in the home, I don't want to be around.

Thats why at the first signs of zero quality of life, I'm dressing like a dog and booking myself into the SPCA. Nobody will adopt me, and I'll be humanely put out of my misery, to spare myself the humiliation and degradation senility brings.

Feel free to use my idea! I won't hold it against you.

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If you liked the above, you may also like:

The Technology of English
The Advice of Mr. Spazoid
This Old Coot
Get off the road, you blue haired dolt!
I think I threw up a little in my mouth

The technology of English

My old man had decided it was time for a new computer. I don't know if it was because he was tired of getting the punch cards mixed up, or if he wanted to reclaim a thousand square feet of his house, but it was time.

You have to understand, dad hasn't progressed technologically since 1969. He still wants to know how they make those teeny tiny little vacuum tubes that go into IPODS and LCD TVs. So when he decided it was time for a new machine, he entrusted it to me. He asked me if it would cost more than $100,000 and if he would have to clear out the basement.

In retrospect, I should have said yes and paid off my mortgage. Still, I like to imagine myself to be a good person. I try anyways.

Theres a really awesome computer store I go to in a nearby city. It takes about a half hour to drive there, but it's definitely worth it. They always have lots of stock, their prices are good, the staff is knowledgeable and they are open on Saturday's. The downside? They're from either India or Pakistan, and all of them have extremely thick accents.

Having done my homework, I already knew what I wanted and I walked in and asked them for it, by model number. They understand me as well as I understand them, so after a few confused verbal exchanges I show them the computer I wanted on their own website.

The store clerk told me they had a better machine for less money already built on that shelf over there. Well, that's what he tried to say. What I heard was this:
"Dip monga holla bana dip dooly nipple mattta bannanna fwanna drools!"

After a few minutes of frustrated exchanges, I finally understood what he meant. Looking at the machine, it was indeed a better machine for less money. I was instantly impressed, this man valued customer happiness over making more money. I wouldn't have known the difference anyways. This just reinforced my liking of this particular store.

I noticed that the machine had windows Vista on it. I didn't want Vista, so I asked him if I could get Windows XP instead.
"dunga matta dip longa whoona fwunga darcheese," came the reply.

I eventually translated that to mean he'd give me the XP liscence in exchange for the Vista liscence, and a burnt windows CD.

"Great!" I said, "I'll buy it!"

And he heard

"sping boggin wanta funna billo fuming abtoooo."

Half an hour later, after all the appropriate translations, I walked out with the machine tucked under my arm.

I got the computer set up and working, with virus software, Microsoft Office and every bell and whistle they'd need. Now comes the fun part, all the phone calls. How do you do this? Why did the machine do that? Training my parents is always fun.

The moral of the story? I'm going to learn Hindu for next time I have to go to this store. It's a great store, and I'm pretty sure learning their language would SAVE time. At least, I think it will.

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The advice of Mr. Spazoid

Contrary to popular belief, I was not hatched, and neither was I brought about by mitosis (could you imagine me, breeding like bacteria? I'd consume the world in weeks!). What this means, ladies and gentlemen, is I have parents.

My father, MR. Spazoid SIR, is like any father in this world. He has gained wisdom from experience and likes to share it with his son, so that his progeny may benefit from his years of learning.

I'd like to share some of his wisdom with you, my readers. No doubt, you have fathers of your own and like any good father, you would have heard some of this before. But for those who haven't, or who don't have fathers, I hope that some of his pearls of wisdom will benefit you greatly. I know they've helped me through some of my hardest times.

High Speed Nose Picking:
When a boogie needs to be picked, it does not wait for the appropriate time. No matter where you are, or what you are doing, it will rear its gooey head and will be come more and more annoying until you MUST dig for that sticky, stringy gold. Driving your car on the highways at high speeds is no exception. After years of practice, he has found that the best way is to take the pinky finger of the hand opposite to the nostril that needs to be picked, and dig around. This provides the optimal angle of entry and highest level of dexterity to get that snot out of there with the least amount of time. Try it, you'll be amazed!

There's only one square of toilet paper left:
And you've already dropped the kids off at the pool. Not to worry! Take that square of toilet paper, and fold it in half. Fold it in half again. Where the joints meet, tear off a small square, and keep it, you'll need it for later. Unfold the paper and you'll notice that there is a hole in the middle. Put your index finger through that hole, and use the finger to clean the clingons off of your brown eyed hairy cyclops. Then, cup your thumb and index finger around your brown index finger below the square of TP. Using a semi circular motion, move that square up your finger until the bulk of the brown stuff has been cleaned off. Remember the little square you removed? Use it to clean under your finger nail! And problem solved.

The ultimate measure of a restaurant:
Is it's bathroom. If it doesn't have a clean, efficient, and aesthetically pleasing bathroom, chances are the food sucks. A shitty bathroom means a lack of effort in every other area. Don't believe me? Try it.

If you ever get married:
Learn the words "yes, dear." You'll need them.

An addendum to the above:
Whats yours is hers. Whats hers is hers. Get used to it.

It's not being cruel and judgmental:
If they can't hear you make fun of them. If it's not hurting their feelings and you're getting a laugh out of it, it's a 100% positive experience! And how could you not, with so many douchebags running around?

If you have to go for a colonoscopy:
They'll give you a drink to clean you out. An hour after you take it, you'll feel a twinge. This twinge will feel like a "Yea, I should find a toilet soon." However, what THIS particular twinge really means is "Find a toilet NOW, or make sure you know where the mop is." After bathroom trip #23 or so, you'll be pissing clear out of your bum and you'll know it's almost over.

After you go for a colonoscopy:
You're going to have some WICKED farts. Make the most of them!

By far, the one piece of advice he's given me has stuck with me the most. "Make the very last cheque you write bounce."

You can't take it with you, so what's the point in dying rich? At the same point, don't be an idiot about your money. Live to your means, make sure you can retire in comfort, and whatever you do, have fun before AND after you retire.

That is some fantastic advice, and I'm taking it to heart. But since I know I'm not getting an inheritance, I have no qualms about teasing him mercilessly. Like father like son, and he throws them right back at me just as hard as I do to him.

I'd like to close this off by leaving you with this thought, which teenagers and people in their early 20's should especially take to heart. Your parents have done more for you than you can ever imagine. Treat them with the respect they so sorely deserve.

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This old coot

Well, that's it. Today I'm officially old. I'm no longer in my twenties, I'm now in my thirties. How time flies eh?

Now that I'm a thirty year old, I'll have to start thinking of things that an old person would need. It's important that I'm prepared when the inevitable happens, which will be sometime this weekend, I'm sure of it. Forthwith, here is the list of stuff. Anybody that has experience being old, please leave a comment with things that I've missed, ok?

Clothing:
Jeans, T-shirts, hoodies, rugby shirts, running shoes, all of these will have to be pitched. Old people don't wear such items I'm to understand. I'll have to go out and purchase a robe and slippers, because that's what old guys wear in the house, right? And for when I go out, I'll have to get pants that have the waist that fits up around the nipples and the legs that stop 3 inches from the top of the calf. Also, does anybody know where I can find 2 foot long suspenders to hold it up? Old men wear wide brimmed hats too right? Damn, am I ever going to look sexy in my new ensemble! I bet all the ladies at the home I'm going to book myself into will be all over me!

Heat:
It's my understanding that old people like it really, really hot. So in preparation of the need for heat I've called in Sears to replace my medium efficiency furnace with a high efficiency furnace. Also, I'm getting a fireplace installed in every room of the house. I've purchased a new thermostat that I've programmed so that it cannot be turned below 35 degree's C. You know, just in case a young person (29 or under) comes into the house and gets hot and tries to turn it down. Could you imagine this old guy living in a room temperature house? I hear that old people can freeze within five minutes of exposure to room temperatures. Hey, I might be old but I don't want to die before my time! Especially of something as careless as letting the house get too cold, like, say, 20 degrees C.

Incontinence:
Old people can't hold their bladders. Or their bowels. Well, sometimes they can't poo at all. So for those days when I can't poo, I've stocked up on all bran, ex lax, and extra strength suppositories. For those days when I can't hold my bowels, I've stocked up on depends adult diapers. Actually, I'll be wearing them every day because my understanding of old is that you can't stop pissing yourself, right? Oh yea, I've installed all of those old people grab bars in the bathroom, just in case I actually do make it to the shitter I'm not stuck in the sitting position until someone can come save me.

Old person smell:
Just because I'm old, doesn't mean I have to smell. So to combat old person smell from various things (see above) I've bought stock in every major deodorant company out there. I might stink, but it won't be from pissing in my depends!

Decor:
I've pitched all my furniture. In it's place, I've purchased couches and chairs with flowery print cloth. All my furniture is now encased in plastic and smells of mothballs too. In place of my painted walls is ugly wall paper. Hardwood floors are a thing of young people, I've covered my floors with 4 inch deep plush magenta coloured carpet. Also good for padding me when I fall, I might not even break my hip!

Vehicle:
I've traded in my pick up truck for a Ford Crown Victoria. I'm currently training myself to back up without looking, drive slow in the fast lane with the turn signal on, and back into objects without realizing I did anything. Also, I'd like to take this opportunity to tell Mimzie she's going to hell, because I know that eventually she'll be trying to run my old ass down. Right Mimzie?

Dinner and bed times:
Tonight, I'm eating dinner at 4 pm. You might think that I'll be hungry by 8, but not to worry, I'll be in bed by 7:30. Also, I've eliminated all salt from the house, because I'm positive my doctor will insist that I'm on a low sodium diet. To ensure that I keep my depends as empty as possible, I've also eliminated any and all spices from the cupboards. I'll only eat steamed broccoli and boiled chicken, to be safe.

Teeth:
I've purchased denture cleaner and poly grip, as I understand old people don't have their own teeth. I've pre booked with my dentist for next week to make me some dentures, as I'm sure all of my teeth will fall out sometime probably Sunday around 3 pm.

Sports:
For some reason, I'm almost positive that I'll actually like golf. Also, I'm sure I'll have this urge to take up lawn bowling. Sometime in five years from now, I'll take up shuffleboard, and five years after that it'll be seated shuffleboard as I'll no longer be able to stand for more than 15 seconds in a row.

Incessant Jabbering:
As a young man, I liked to talk but I also liked to shut up. Now, I'm betting I'll talk to anybody who will listen for hours and hours on end, not letting them get a word in edgewise. Hey! I just realized that getting old is kind of like being female in that regard!

Pharmaceutical Cocktails:
I've heard old people take lots and lots of pills. I'm not sure what kind, when, or for what, but I'm going down to the pharmacy later demanding drugs. I'll let you know how that works out.

Thanks to listening to this old coot babble on. For those of you who enjoy reading my blog, just remember, I'm now thirty years old. I could drop dead any day now, so if I stop blogging, it's probably because I'm dead. Or just because I can no longer operate this new fangled technology!

GET OFF THE ROAD, YOU BLUE HAIRED DOLT!

I'd like to talk a little about old people. Not old to a teenager, I'm talking OLD. 70 years plus.

These people are great. They've lived a long life, they've made their contributions to society (most people) and many have great stories to tell. Most are retired and had earned their relaxation time. They continue to contribute to society in general by helping with their grand children, volunteering their time at food banks and the such, and enjoying the hobbies they like doing and now have time for. These people have my deepest respects and I hope to one day be able to join the ranks of the revered and respected senior.

I very much enjoy the occasional conversation and the wistful nostalgia of our elderly, and think they are great people. That is, until they GET ON THE ROAD!

First off, these people MUST know that their sight, hearing, reaction times and depth perceptions are not what they used to be. So why is it that they MUST drive the likes of Buick Roadmasters and Ford Crown Victoria's? Why do they need 3 tonnes of metal fronted by a huge V-8 just so they can putt around town at 20 under the speed limit or drive in the fast lane of the highway at 80 with their blinkers on?

You MUST lose all control of your neck muscles as you age because I've never seen one - not ONE elderly person check their blind spot as they are lane changing or merging into traffic. It seems they are oblivious to the chaos caused by them when horns are honking and brakes are screeching. "Gee Mildred, these young people just can't drive. It seems every time I make a lane change someone gets into an accident behind me. Tsk. Tsk."

Really, any and all indiscretions become your fault. To be fair, they are mostly out during the day time and tend to retreat back to their homes before rush hour. To also be fair, I need to travel for work during the day and it can be very frustrating. Just the other day I was trying to get into St. George to work on some instrumentation at the water plant. This was a timely matter, and I'm doing a respectful 10 km/h over the speed limit. What is in front of me while making my turn onto St. George road but 4 blue haired women in an enormous Buick. The driver cautiously waited 5 minutes for a car to pass that entered her field of vision about a kilometer down the road. She then nudged her gas guzzling beast slowly around the bend, onto the road, and gently accelerated to 60. And she stayed at 60. The speed limit is 80. The road is very hilly and there is very little opportunity to pass... so there I was, doing 20 less than the speed limit and my 10-4 phone beeping with an impatient water plant operator wondering where I was. "Sorry Scott, great gramma's got her Buick floored, I can't get by her.". Really, this lady musta thought she was flying. Both hands were on the steering wheel in a granny death grip, whiter than the collective whispy hair flying in the air forced through the heater on this balmy fall day. I finally got the opportunity to pass her, only to see her mother driving an even bigger Buick right in front of me. Shit.

My favorite is passing an elderly driver while seeing him shake his old grizzled fist at me. "Slow down, you young punk! You're going to get somebody killed like when I make a lane change!" I've even had the honour of a mummified shawl wrapped lady giving me the finger as I passed her while she's idling her behemoth in first gear.

Perhaps it's pride that keeps them oblivious, I don't know. I would be very happy to have them take yearly driving tests after a certain age. Hey, here's an idea. Make them drive in tandom with asshole teenagers that think their Honda Civics are rally cars. Maybe the polar opposites will even out into a normal and safe driver? Certainly worth a shot; I'm going to write my MP tomorrow.