Local shops may be diverse demographic dreamlands during
weekends that would make any mainstream-multicultural politician squeal with
delight, but during working hours they are dominated largely by old people. Naturally, I don't like old people very much as
there is nothing worse than having to listen to some piss-drenched OAP ramble about cats and ‘Ted next door’.
Old people are a serious burden on our society’s youth with
their unaffordable pension schemes and colossal usage of NHS resources. Every generation should pay for itself. These people have had good innings they
should be grateful for that and willingly wallop their wickets all-out for lifes last dissmisal. Prolonging
the inevitable is futile as their impending doom and slobbering senility deepens.
Being the Misanthropist which I am, I don't often leave my
house from the fear of accidently meeting people but this morning I had little
choice: I needed beer. I was in the shop
and spotted enemies amongst the aisles everywhere, you see them shuffling the
vicinity buying old people products like prune juice whilst holding cat-food
coupons.
I was in the shop for around two-and-a-half-minutes, which
is way too long for me. I knew I was
just asking for trouble.
As I walked through a dingy aisle I felt a skeletal
hand grip my shoulder with surprising strength. I automatically turned around and pulled my default
despicable scowl to let my repulsion be known.
My eyes were then met with a little old lady of four feet
high who had the thousand fires of hell burning in her ageing ape eyes.
"Get out of the fucking way, arsehole", she screamed, the old woman's body jerked with rage in unity with her verbal assault. I stood there disobediently and jaw-agaped looking like a
man who had just been insulted by an old woman not far from her expiry
date. You don't expect it from someone
who looks like they could potentially wither away and shrivel up infront of
your very eyes. If she appeared a day
under 96 I would have punched her, naturally.
I do not know who exactly this person was, but for the sake of anonymity and protection of the old and vulnerable we'll call her 'Beelzebub'.
I do not know who exactly this person was, but for the sake of anonymity and protection of the old and vulnerable we'll call her 'Beelzebub'.
"Are you ever going to ever fucking move", Beelzebub's
demented chorus continued. I stared
at the disgusting wretch in the midst of the brimstone, and the disgusting wretch stared back at me.
I couldn't be completely sure, had it just called me an arsehole?
"Did you just call me an arsehole?” I enquired.
Beelzebub quickly gave confirmation.
"OK. Just
checking!" I replied as the grappling hell-fire consumed me.