Geriatric jerks

I want one of those scooters that they show on TV all the time.

You know the ones I mean, the ones that old people sing about how they are in love and the company really had a good time selling them a chair that the government was really paying for.

I would want mine to have recorded big rig noises in place of a horn to scare the hell out of those people that stand in doors and mingle in high-traffic hallways.

I want people to look up to see me bearing down on them with an evil gleam in my eye and blaring air horn noises coming from under my powered wheelchair while I scream, “Get outta my way, you evil bitch!”

When I get old a feeble I intend to be a right bastard, scaring little children (“I like the taste of little girl, little girl.”) and middle aged people with my behavior. I want to be the guy at the mall that scares the hell out of everyone just by staring at them with that demented gleam in my eye. Then I want to create a great annoying blast from my air horn and roll about chasing people and drooling over short skirts and great cleavage until mall security runs me off.

Then I would loudly create a scene, declare police brutality and that I am going to sue the mall, just to show up again the next day and pretend that I can’t remember a thing from the day before.

I can just imagine a gaggle of geriatrics storming the mall with mad intentions and a “You can’t do anything to me that ain’t been done already" attitude, sporting bumper stickers that say,
“Grandma is coming, and boy is she pissed!”

“Geriatric gangs terrorize teens.”

That’s a headline I can identify with….