Why I like the summertime

For the most part, I don't particularly care for the summertime. I mean, I can appreciate the fact that for a few months each year, it's almost (but not really) socially acceptable for women to walk around wearing less clothing than an Eastside prostitute; that part I can deal with. But in order to actually see any of this you have to venture outdoors, which is a problem because it's Motherfucking Hot out there. On the worse days of summer, I don't even like to go outside to get some shit out of my car, especially if I've been drinking. A brother might mess around and catch a heat stroke up in this bitch.

Which brings me to my point: If there's a plus side to the summertime, other than big jiggling titties, it's that lots and lots of old people die each year. I don't have any actual statistics on this, but I wouldn't be surprised if twice as many old people die during the summer than, say the spring or autumn. All summer long, especially during the dog days you see stories on the news about old people who couldn't quite afford to keep the AC cranking, burning up like dogs in locked cars. And man, let me tell you: I just love it. No homo. Not that I'm the kind of person to necessarily celebrate the death of others, but I find old people to be one of the worst groups of people in the whole country, maybe even worse than Indian people. But don't quote me on that, because I'd have to think about it.

Here are a few reasons:

A) Old people stink.
This one is just real basic. Old people, I guess because they're old, have to coat themselves with all sorts of foul-smelling chemicals, not unlike Tom Berenger in the movie Major League, just so that they can function. And if that's not bad enough, a lot of them can't help but to constantly shit their pants, and then they think it's cool to walk around like that. I guess once you get to be a certain age, your sense of smell just goes, because I know I've been in situations in which I thought I was literally about to pass out, and these old motherfuckers just stood there as if nothing was wrong.

B) Old people are poor.
Here's a problem that applies to a lot of people, but it seems to affect old people in particular, I guess because they're too old to hold down an actual job. Now, I don't really have a problem with poor people in general, as long as they stay confined to their government (meaning part of Bol's paycheck) subsidized housing and never, ever, ever venture out into a situation in which they might cause a problem for me. But old people, not unlike a certain other group of people, coincidentally enough, have this bad, bad tendency to go and try to spend money in places where they know good and well they can't afford to.

Where as the aforementioned Indian people like to go with a straight 10 percent tip, completely regardless of the level of service, old people instead like to go with a standard two dollars, both regardless of how much they spent and the actual level of service. So in that sense, I guess you can say that old people really are worse than Indian people. Also, I've noticed that the elderly have a tendency to do silly shit like buying a bunch of socks and bath gowns and what have you and then returning that shit the next week so that they can go get their prescriptions filled. Wal-Mart is actually creating a list and is just going to start telling these people to fuck off, while at the BGM, we just say a little silent prayer that they slip, fall and die en route from the service desk to the pharmacy counter. Or at least I know I sure do.

and

C) Old people are fucking racist.
Finally, this is a good enough reason to wish death on anybody, but especially old people. I mean, on the one hand, I can appreciate the fact that a lot of these people's parents used to own black people and maybe they have fond memories of hanging niggers from trees and burning crosses in front of black churches and what have you. But, on the other hand, any time when you have to save up to buy motherfucking socks, you officially forfeit your right to be racist against anyone. If I had a nickel for every time one of these old, racist cracka-ass crackas walked up to one of my employees (typically a 40+ year-old white lady) and asked them if they were the manager, when I was standing right there (I guess they assume I'm the janitor or somebody), I'd have at least 8 dollars.