OCTOGENARIAN: Those Damn Kids

Pension Fund Shot?

Mon, 17 Nov 2008 14:18:05 -0800

Retirement money dried up? Stop your bitching and do what me and Mrs. Aldrich do - EAT DOG FOOD. And not that premium Alpo crap - I'm talking Chappie Original Dog Food Meal!

Me and the Mrs. have been through tougher times than this. A 39 cent can of dog food is a goddamned feast compared to what we used to eat. Every time I see Those Damn Kids out on my lawn eating ice cream like it's VJ Day, I just want to take the flag off my porch, impale them and carry them back to the depression where after we ran out of dirt to eat, we were forced to eat the termites that were eating our house.

I don't know who's to blame for this economic crisis (George Bush, Lansing Mayor Virg Bernero, Those Damn Kids) - frankly, I don't care. Not as long as there is decent food to be had for $0.39!

I'll talk at you next week...

Lester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian Magazine. Manka Bros. Studios is not responsible for any action by our freelance writers. If Mr. Aldrich actually kills someone, that's his problem. Manka Bros. cannot be held accountable.

I Was A Teenager In The Great Depression...

Mon, 10 Nov 2008 16:16:39 -0800

... My father was unemployed. We had very little food. We never bathed. I didn't go to school very often. But I was a teenager so I didn't give a shit about any of that stuff. I just wanted to have sexual relations with Mary Dell'gato.

Today, my pension is shot (thanks to that no good mother fucker Richard Fuld and his bankrupt Lehman Brothers!). My ass doesn't really work anymore. THOSE DAMN KIDS rip apart my lawn and TP my trees. And I'm a really old man.

The Great Depression was better.

I'll talk at you next week.

Lester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian Magazine. Manka Bros. Studios is not responsible for any action by our freelance writers. If Mr. Aldrich actually kills someone, that's his problem. Manka Bros. cannot be held accountable.

The Last Day I Was Happy...

Mon, 03 Nov 2008 09:05:48 -0800

The last day I was happy was August 3rd, 1976. Maybe down the line I'll tell you what happened on that day. But not today. I'm too sick and tired to talk about something happy.

The Spartans are going to break my heart again this year. If they lose to Notre Dame this weekend, I may give up and die right in front of the TV. It's always cold as Hell in this God forsaken Michigan. I don't think I'll ever be warm again.

THOSE DAMN KIDS can do whatever they want to me and Mrs. Aldrich today... I just don't care.

If they want to throw rocks at Mrs. Aldrich... do it.

If they want to stick vegetables in the tailpipe of my car - knock yourselves out.

If they want to dump wet cement over my rose bushes again - it's all yours, boys!

If they want to stick super glue under the door handle on the car so Mrs. Aldrich's hand gets stuck again - nobody named Lester is going to stop you.

I'm not going to kill them today because I just don't care enough to kill. No one is joining my revolution.

This is my 88th November 3rd and whoop-ti-fucking-do, what a day it is!

I'll talk at you next week...

Lester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian Magazine. Manka Bros. Studios is not responsible for any action by our freelance writers. If Mr. Aldrich actually kills someone, that's his problem. Manka Bros. cannot be held accountable.

The Octogenarian Revolution Has Begun!

Mon, 27 Oct 2008 15:27:20 -0800

Mrs. Aldrich is absolutely sick of THOSE DAMN KIDS!

It's bad enough she has go to the doctor three times a week and take a bag full of pills each day just to have the strength to watch television, but THOSE DAMN KIDS keep tormenting her with footballs in our shrubs and bicycles that crush her precious rose bushes.

There's only so much old people can stomach before we take the law into our own hands! If it means I have to shoot and kill some of THOSE DAMN KIDS, I just might have to do it.

I'm an old man. I've lived a long time and I know when all this hooliganism started. It was the day marijuana came into this country. Brought over by the dope smoking Chinese after Chiang Kai-shek lost the war to the Communists. Ever since then THOSE DAMN KIDS have been HIGH ON POT.

Confucius was wrong when he said, 'He who stands on the toilet gets high on pot.' I say, he who smokes reefer gets high on pot - and gets so high on pot that they treat old people like a fist full of maggots.

Well, listen up, sonny boys and sonny girls, THERE'S GOING TO BE A REVOLUTION and it's going to be started by the OCTOGENARIANS of this country! If it means a lot of blood is spilled, then so be it.

But by God, we're going to take this country back!

Historians will analyze the revolution and write, 'I think we could have stopped all the carnage and loss of life if THOSE DAMN KIDS would have stayed off my fucking lawn!"

I'll talk at you next week...

Lester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian Magazine. Manka Bros. Studios is not responsible for any action by our freelance writers. If Mr. Aldrich actually kills someone, that's his problem. Manka Bros. cannot be held accountable.

A Man's Ass Should Last His Entire Lifetime

Mon, 20 Oct 2008 11:44:50 -0800

I just want to say for the record on this world wide web I type on every week - FUCK MY COLOSTOMY BAG. FUCK IT ALL TO HELL!!

You see, sometimes old people like George Burns are allowed to smoke and function normally until they die peacefully at the age of 100 and others, like me, can't shit past 80.

We had a bunch of assholes from my family (no pun) over to the house for a BBQ yesterday. It was a goddamned embarrassment and fucking lack of respect! All day long I had to listen to THOSE DAMN KIDS from the neighborhood that my bitch of a wife invited and also my grandkids and great-grandkids giggle at the fact that Grandpa Lester could only eat Jello and was only allowed one beer (light beer!) the entire day!

I'll say it again - FUCK MY COLOSTOMY BAG. FUCK IT ALL TO HELL!!

They grilled the burgers right in front of me and made big jokes as they munched on hot dogs and potato chips and all drank till they were drunk! May Satan fuck them all in Hell!

If it weren't for Mrs. Aldrich's 'attention must be paid' prayer mentioning me to our Lord, I would have felt that I was already dead.

Now I know why ol' Dick Shepherd keeps trying to shoot himself.

I will always remember this year as the year I lost the use of my ass.

I'll talk at you next week...

Lester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian Magazine. Manka Bros. Studios is not responsible for any action by our freelance writers. If Mr. Aldrich actually kills someone, that's his problem. Manka Bros. cannot be held accountable.

Lester Aldrich Has Colostomy Bag Issues And Can't Straighten His Fingers...

Mon, 13 Oct 2008 10:32:45 -0800

Hello, this is Mrs. Aldrich - Lester Aldrich's wife. He wanted me to type something here to tell you that he can't write his column today because he has issues with his colostomy bag and can't straighten his fingers. Also the closing ceremonies of the Olympics gave him a seizure.

He will talk at you next week.

Lester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian Magazine. Manka Bros. Studios is not responsible for any action by our freelance writers. If Mr. Aldrich actually kills someone, that's his problem. Manka Bros. cannot be held accountable.

Mrs. Aldrich Has Got Her Migraines Again...

Wed, 20 Aug 2008 10:15:31 -0800

... so I shut her in her room with a handful of bouillon and called Dick Shepherd. He took a taxi over from the rest home and we watched some television. He only has half a tongue so I offered him half a beer.

As we all know, the Olympics are on. And I hate the Olympics. Without the Soviets, it's like watching an Andy Hardy movie. They knew how to train athletes. Fourteen hour days, seven days a week, thousands of miles from home - all before your tenth birthday. And when that powerful Soviet National Anthem came up, you knew your ass was beat badly. And they would sneer and stick out their chest. Soviet athletes were men - even the women.

So Shep wants to watch the Olympics. Okay, fine. The black golfer's is hurt and not on, so fine. We'll watch it. The first thing that came on my television was the most pitiful fucking thing I've ever seen. And I'm not talking about female weightlifting. No, no... I like female weightlifting. If more women could lift heavy things like that we wouldn't be in the middle of this damn energy crisis.

What I'm talking about is...

...MEN'S SYNCHRONIZED DIVING.

When is see things like that I often think of war and wonder if this was what we were fighting for. Shep made some stupid remark about their little swimtrunks calling it a "Battle of the Bulge" - Shep's gonna die soon, so I laughed at his joke.

I thought about an ice storm in December of 1943 where the ice would hit you like a dart in the face. And I thought that if Tony South Shore would have waited for me and Eddie Dykstra to synchronize our dives into the Rhine to save his ass, he would have been sucking German mud before we did our first toe touch.

Look at those freaks. They stand there on the diving board in their little trunks with their hair combed. Then they dive, wait for their score and then sit in a Jacuzzi hot tub waiting to do it again. You know what we got to sit in once we finished shooting Germans? Our own filth. You know what Old Shep's sitting in while watching Men's Synchronized Diving? His own filth. Where's the sport in that?

Men don't need to dive the same way at the same time. If they did, it would have been in the Bible.

I'll talk at you next week....

Lester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian Magazine. Manka Bros. Studios is not responsible for any action by our freelance writers. If Mr. Aldrich actually kills someone, that's his problem. Manka Bros. cannot be held accountable.

I Hate The Olympics

Mon, 11 Aug 2008 10:41:14 -0800

The Olympics are stupid. Who cares who can run faster or throw a lead ball further? I could care less.

In WWII it didn't matter who could shoot better or who was the better, more dedicated soldier, we won that war because we had bigger bombs.

The Chinese have shown how to make Communism work. By spending and making money. Get ready for an invasion in a few years. On TV, we see all the fancy buildings that they built. What we didn't see is all the fancy bombs and military hardware that they built during the same time. The building boom in China is a just a facade as they prepare to invade the world. I'll be dead but THOSE DAMN KIDS are going to have to fight them. Sorry, Snotty Scotty, it's bamboo shoots up your finger nails. That's what you get for trampling Mrs. Aldrich's daisies.

On TV, they just showed some lady swimmer from the East Lansing area that won some stupid medal. So what?! The only profession you can have from swimming is to be a swimming teacher.

Why don't they show The Green Berets on TV instead? That's more inspirational than some idiot swimming back and forth in a pool.

Don't THOSE DAMN KIDS know what is ahead of them in life. A miserable job with a miserable boss, you'll watch a lot of TV and eventually have a bag attached to you so you can take a shit. That's your future, kiddies!

So stop all that running!

Stop all that laughing!

Stop all that crying!

Stop trying and start drinking!

I'll talk at you next week....

Half a dozen eggs were thrown at Mrs. Aldrich today...

Mon, 04 Aug 2008 07:56:04 -0800

I had my rifle ready to shoot those little jerks but the Mrs. stepped in front of me, the gun barrel at her throat.

As raw eggs slid from her hair onto my Smith & Wesson, she said, 'Put it away, Lester. You brought this on yourself, you know.'

'Myself?' I said. 'I'm not the one with a half a dozen Grade A's hanging off of my $8 dollar wash & set. You better shut up and get in the house, woman! THOSE DAMN KIDS should have been shot years ago!'

She took the gun out of my hands and walked inside. I realized at that moment, I married a soft woman. She wasn't in the war. She wouldn't know a fox hole from a donut hole. Every day it's something new.

'Lester, don't watch that show, it raises your blood pressure.'

'Lester, you've already had your cup of coffee.'

'Lester, can you get the door for me?'

'Lester, please pump your own colostomy bag.'

Bitch.

We watch the National Geographic almost every afternoon. Animals eat the animals that don't keep up. If you aren't a fast zebra when you cross that river, you get your leg eaten by a crocodile. Too bad, zippy, I guess you weren't good enough!

The stronger should survive in my neighborhood. If you don't get your stupid football out of the road by the time I drive by, then kiss your sorry legs goodbye, punk!

I guess you weren't fast enough!

I'll talk at you next week....

I Once Ate A Man In Korea...

Mon, 21 Jul 2008 12:52:41 -0800

I once ate a man in Korea. I'd prefer not to go into details. The Pentagon told us never to discuss it. I obey my orders from the Pentagon unlike all these pussy generals that parade onto CNN and talk about how we're not fighting the war right. Shut the fuck up! - with all due respect.

Anyway, I once ate a man in Korea. The whole man. Like the Indians with the buffalo, I used every piece of that unlucky son of a bitch.

It was a freezing spring day in 1952 when the "incident" occurred. Eighteen inches of snow, frozen roads, sub-zero temperatures. I saw a man's face shatter like ice when he was shaving with a rusty razor. Brutal. Goddamned brutal. So rather than die of starvation and loneliness - I ate that dead Korean.

All THOSE DAMN KIDS know how to do is fall off their skateboards and onto my lawn. I'm going to mark the edge of my property with sulfuric acid so the next time Snotty Scotty falls on my grass the skin will fall right off his ass! That's what that punk deserves and that's what I want to see.

I've heard stories that people from Michigan are cannibals by nature. I'm not sure if that's true or not. I haven't eaten anyone since 1952. Mrs. Aldrich hasn't eaten anyone since 1986 (that's a joke). It was closer to 1982 (that's also a joke). As far as I know, she's never eaten one person. But she's from Iowa. And I hear people from Iowa are more interested in chicken.

Days like this make me sad.

THOSE DAMN KIDS giggling like gorillas and rolling down my street on their fat bodies will never know what it's like to be really hungry. I mean REALLY hungry. So hungry that you'd... well, you know...

The sacrifices I made just so they could go to Arby's...

I'll talk at you next week...

As You Get Older, Doctors Replace Some Of Your Parts To Keep You Alive...

Mon, 14 Jul 2008 10:40:54 -0800

As you get older, doctors replace some of your parts to keep you alive and shut down other parts that you don't need all together.

Having a colostomy bag is not fun and if I had the choice over, I would have preferred to die of cancer. It is the equivalent of taking a dump in your pocket several times a day and then cleaning out the pocket.

But I don't worry... this column today is not about taking a dump in my pocket. It's about THOSE DAMN KIDS!

Summertime is the absolute worse time for me and Mrs. Aldrich because of three little words - ICE CREAM MAN! This little pussy in his white "uniform" comes through the neighborhood 4 or 5 times a day clanging that little pansy song It's A Small World After All.

If that hippie bastard would only drive a little faster, he could run over several of those little sugar craving squealing babies every day.

First, I'd like to say, I enjoy a plate of ice milk as much as the next man. Me and the Mrs. go the Sizzler on occasion and I get the soft serve after a nice steak dinner.

But these kids aren't in the Sizzler (when they are we hightail it straight for Denny's). They are outside, dangerously close to the heel of my lawn, bouncing up and down like little girlie pogo sticks with their Rocky Roads and Tuttie Fruttie Bomb Pops.

Mrs. Aldrich found two popsicle sticks on my lawn last week. She thought it was "cute" and told me the stupid little joke that was written on the stick: "Where do plants play football?" "The Ivy League." She was laughing like a hyena - I wanted to ram the sticks up her nose.

I prefer winter. Nobody eats ice cream in the winter.

I'll talk at you next week...

Lester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian Magazine. Manka Bros. Studios is not responsible for any action by our freelance writers. If Mr. Aldrich actually kills someone, that's his problem. Manka Bros. cannot be held accountable.

I'm a patriotic man...

Mon, 07 Jul 2008 15:13:01 -0800

... I'm so Goddamned patriotic that I literally shit red, white and blue. I told you recently what the red was, I'm afraid to know what the white is and I think the blue is just grape juice.

Stop cringing, my column today is not about the colors of my crap, it's about THOSE DAMN KIDS!

Holidays bring out the worst in those little punks. Every year I put Old Glory out in front of my house and every year those little pricks piss on it. Not with their urine but with their disrespect.

One year, Mrs. Aldrich and I were having a barbecue out on our back lawn. Reverend Miles was there with his oriental wife, along with a couple buddies of mine from the VFW and a few other neighbors whose names I forget. We were all having a fine time talking about America. But those little peanut butter covered assholes got it in their chicken brains to start shooting off roman candles.

Well, goddamn it, if Mrs. Aldrich didn't get hit in the side of the head with one of those blue and orange fireballs. It knocked her clean across the lawn and set her hair on fire. I chased those little bastards all over the neighborhood until my heart couldn't stand it anymore.

They got away that time. But I'll get them in the end. I don't care if they discover Jesus Christ Our Lord and repent for everything they've ever done to ruin innocent lives, I will still find them and murder them.

July 4th is about honoring those who stood in the line of fire so that future generations could live in freedom, safe from tyranny and oppression.

This 4th of July, I honor Mrs. Aldrich, who stood in the line of fire against those goo covered little pissants who are hell-bent on ruining my last remaining years on this Earth.

Happy July 4th, America.

I'll talk at you next week...

I have a goddamned brown spot the size of a saucer on my stomach...

Mon, 30 Jun 2008 16:53:46 -0800

I have a goddamned brown spot the size of a saucer on my stomach. I don't know what the hell is it. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't affect my ability to empty my bodily waste into the colostomy bag. But it's annoying as hell to look at.

Dick Shepherd's got brown spots all over his body. He never seems to complain about them. That's what I like about ol' Shep. He's only got one quarter of a lung left, half a kidney, six fingers (out of a possible ten) and just one eye (and he's damn near blind out of the other). If ol' Shep doesn't complain, then neither will I.

THOSE DAMN KIDS have really outdone themselves over the last week. Snotty Scotty has discovered stink bombs and loves to throw them in Mrs. Aldrich's flower beds. She cut half of one bush down because she thought they stank so bad.

Every time he blows one off it reminds me of Korea. If I get a hold of that little bastard, I'll tell him about the stench of burning human flesh. That will teach him. I wish we could keep a record of smells like a movie can capture images from the past. If these stupid kids could just smell some of the horrors I've smelled, they'd treat me with the respect I deserve.

April is nearly here and I can only hope I'll be dead before May. I don't know how long it takes little brown spots to work their magic, but it won't be soon enough as far as I'm concerned.

As far as my plans for the rest of the spring go, me and Mrs. Aldrich will be in the bomb shelter eating beans and talking about war.

I'll talk at you next week...

The VFW Hall Ain't What It Used To Be...

Mon, 23 Jun 2008 13:30:03 -0800

There are now more Goddamned documentary filmmakers in the VFW bar area than actual veterans. Asshole punk filmmakers who just learned there was a World War 2; dickwad sucking hose farts that think they can stop The War In Iraq; scum sucking pricks who think they can find the MIAs in Vietnam. They all come to the VFW to talk with us experts - US WHO KNOW WHAT A FUCKING WAR IS! You'd think we'd be the ones making the movies!

Pete the bartender was "in the shit" in Vietnam as he likes to call it. He sits there all day like an idiot talking to this rotating circus of filmmakers from the college - all trying to get into his head and find out what it was really like in combat.

VIETNAM VETS DON'T KNOW ABOUT COMBAT! It was all whorehouses and monkey brains for those guys. (editor's note: Manka Bros. & Octogenarian strongly feel that Vietnam veterans served their country as heroically as any of our veterans of foreign wars). That's why they didn't get a Goddamned parade. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised to see Charlie sitting the corner playing on the pinball machine if that damn Pete had his way. But he took one in the jaw, so I'll have to give him that. The man looks like an animal and he's only 57.

I can only take an hour a day in that miserable place. I need some place to go to get away from THOSE DAMN KIDS!

Last night, Snotty Scotty turned the hose on Mrs. Aldrich in subfreezing temperatures. She claims he was just helping put out the fire in our backyard BBQ that I lit to stay warm during my afternoon outdoor sit. She's full of shit (not literally, she hasn't had a decent movement in years) and I hate her for protecting that little prick!

If he lives to see 15, that's 15 years too many in my book!

I'll talk at you next week...

Mrs. Aldrich gets a wash and set on the third Monday of every month...

Mon, 16 Jun 2008 10:13:55 -0800

Mrs. Aldrich gets a wash and set on the third Monday of every month. She leaves the house at 10:00 a.m.

At 10:01am, I get out my special gun. Not my rifle that I have around for everyday use, but my CZ27 semiautomatic pistol with silencer. This is a beautiful, beautiful piece of hardware that I picked up in a gun show about 20 years ago. It's Czech made, 7.65 mm and was used mostly by West German secret intelligence.

I have a little window bench that looks out over my front lawn and I like to sit there with my gun and watch... and wait.

Come on... Come on little Snotty Scotty, little Potty Patty - just take one step on my lawn. Every day they think they're getting the best of an old man by rubbing doggy doo-doo or gum into my lawn. Little do they know that I'll get the best of them because of what I've got between my fingers.

I am just itching... come a little closer.

During the Civil War, there was a battle phrase, 'Don't fire until you see the whites of their eyes.' In East Lancing, I have my own battle phrase, 'Don't fire until you see the brown of their shit.' And on the third Monday of every month, I pray to God to see that shit. Just once.

THOSE DAMN KIDS think they're so smart. Research has shown a person is less smart when they're dead.

Then it happened. Enemy approaching at nine o'clock.

Well, hello there, Timmy Titring, what have you got there? A candy bar? Mmm... Hersheys. What are you doing with the wrapper there, Timmy? Are you going to throw it down on the ground... perhaps on my lawn, jerk?

With no time to lose, I raised my CZ27 semiautomatic pistol with silencer, I took deadly aim and...

Goddamnit! Mrs. Aldrich pulled into the driveway. My prey easily bounded away, leaving a trail of candy wrappers and dogshit.

Now I had to move fast. I only had thirty seconds to return the CZ27 to the security closet before Mrs. Aldrich breezed in looking like Martha Raye.

I'll talk at you next week...