Someone took battery charger and cables out of my car recently. They perps hit multiple cars in the parking lot and someone said off-handedly: “Probably teenagers”
From my experience that’s not always true. Once, in St. Croix a “crackstafarian” (quick definitions: rastafarian = dreads + marijuana, crackstafarian = dreads + crack cocaine, not to be confused with pastafarians). Anyway, this gent tried to break into my apartment to steal my roommate’s’ bike. “I’m coming in for da bike,” he said. He was foiled but it reminded me misbehaving isn’t limited to youth and it shouldn’t be.
I have a dream!
For years my dream for retirement is to be beyond dirty old man. We’d grab a six pack of Busch Light, strap on our velcroed white New Balance shoes and watch volleyball practice at the local college. But I’ve dreamed of more: vibrancy, diversity, frivolity and other words ending “y.”
We not embrace the foolishness of youth when we’re largely impugned from punishment? We’d egg houses, shoot bottle rockets at cars, moon cops, ingite flaming bags of poop. Granted we’ll get busted from time to time but what’s the realistic charges. We’ll use our kid’s inheritance to pay the bail and it will be worth millions to see the look on my kids’ faces when the cops show up at door with me.
“You’re grounded! Go back to your own home. And as punishment no friends can come over til Friday.” They’ll say.
It’s be a great group! We’ll hit on hot on younger women. Firm. Athletic. Energetic. women in their 70s.
And when City Council proposes raises the raising minimum speed on superhighway from 40 to 55. I’ll gather a flash mob of my crew and will protest the proposed ordinance in song. It will start innocently enough…..“Honored Councilmembers….”
And then out comes the boom box with Sammy Hagar’s “I can’t drive 55!” with our adapted lyrics.
One foot is asleep and I’ve got bad gas oh.
I hate the traffic, they go so fast oh.
We want to drive at the lowest, legal speed
Just leave us alone before we’re peeved
I say yeahhhhhhh…….
Go ahead and write me up, I’m over 85
Post my face wanted dead or alive
Take my license, all that jive
I can’t drive 55! Oh no.
For the chorus my flash mob of drinking buddies and ladies – called The Few Live Crew – will jump up in unison with a roar: “We can’t drive, 55!!!”
We’ll all get tickets for disturbing the peace and later reminisce over our favorite cocktail a mix of low-calorie Ensure coffee latte flavor with Bailey’s Irish Cream. We call them “Lite Russians” And for those that can’t drink we’ll mix up non-alcoholic En-surley Temples with cherry Ensure packets – full of 26 essential nutrients.
And why not engage in petty theft? We’ll steal from the rich and resell the items on Ebay for beer money and give profits to our favorite charities. We’re like Robin Hood and our merry band of thieves but with walkers. We’ll use some of the money to buy drinks at a local pub and play strip Cribbage.
We’ll steal fancy rims off cars and put them on our Buick sedans and Crown Victorias. We’ll take the yard ornaments and nativity scenes and rearrange them into obscenities.
It will be great! I can’t wait.
Hell, I’m going to get a head start on my delayed delinquency and deviancy tonight. Lock your doors, I’m coming in for da bike!