I can’t wait until I get old and become one of those grumpy bastards who yell at people for no reason at all. Once you get past a certain age, you stop worrying what people think about you and let everyone else know what you think about them.

For instance at my gym, old men walk around with their wrinkly ball sacks dangling all over, not a care in the world, or feeling a need to cover up. I’m skeptical any of these old timers are actually exercising, but rather are specifically there to inflict emotional damage on younger generations by showing us what we have to look forward to later in life. I’ve bore witness to seniors in the gym locker, blow dryer in hand, old ass and balls being swathed in warm air without flinching one bit as to how horribly disgusting the whole scene is.

I’ve heard on the other side, old bag ladies are equally as carefree with their gravity ravaged breasts flopping over their belly buttons and vaginas covered in more fur than the wooly bear caterpillar. Of course there are crazier senior citizens than those that attend my gym, like Katherine Kelly who’s been arrested more times than a hippie at a marijuana rally.

I love old people, but I watch them like a hawk, because they will kill you if they get the chance. I thank my lucky stars everyday for elderly homes, because without them seniors would be walking the streets like zombies, zombies with fossilized genitals and machine guns.

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