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OCTOGENARIAN: Those Damn Kids
elephant_toilet.jpg

Don't fret, that's not the subject of my column today - as always, it's THOSE DAMN KIDS!

However, when I am bleeding from the ass, my hatred of those damn kids grows tenfold.  The picture of the elephant on the toilet is not meant to amuse you - it's to show you how I look every Goddamned morning!

Let me give you a little look at my day.  I get up at 4:30am and have read the entire Lansing State Journal by the time most of those little pip-squeaks have crawled out of bed and had their first bowl of frutti-tutti flakes.

Every day, me and Mrs. Aldrich sit on our porch and watch those little jerks scrape dogshit off of their sneakers and onto my lawn.

The vicious cycle starts with the parents of those little Hitlers.  They're the ones who let their little yap dogs (with their craps the size of Lake Michigan) shit on my sidewalk without cleaning it up.  Come rain or shine, those damn kids step in it every morning, then they say 'ewww', scrape it on my lawn then skip off to school so they can learn how to piss on the flag.

It doesn't matter if it's on a day when my ass is bleeding or not... IT DRIVES ME FUCKING CRAZY!!!

But don't cry for me.  As long as I have blood in my veins and bullets in my gun, I'll always have the upper hand against THOSE DAMN KIDS!

I'll talk at you next week...

lester aldrich_small.jpg

Lester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian MagazineManka 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_alone.jpgThe 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 in the tournament - if I live that long.  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 86th March 1st and whoop-ti-fucking-do, what a day it is!

I'll talk at you next week...

lester aldrich_small.jpgLester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian MagazineManka 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.
octogenarian_image_removed_2.jpgI 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.

August is nearly here and I can only hope I'll be dead before September. 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...

lester aldrich_small.jpg

Lester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian MagazineManka 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.

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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 - sirs!

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 throw dog shit onto my lawn. 

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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 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...

lester aldrich_small.jpg

Lester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian MagazineManka 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.

cat with orange spot.jpgThe long-haired homosexuals from Cuddly Creatures™ came by yesterday with some animals that we could pet for the afternoon.  The bleeding ass liberals started this program to comfort the lonely and old with an hour or two of furry love.  My retarded son and his wife, Tokyo Rose, feels that we are too old to handle the responsibility of a little pet, so we have these queers come out once a month with animals because Mrs. Aldrich likes to pet cats.

That's all well and good.  But every damn time the van pulls up, THOSE DAMN KIDS from the neighborhood flock around and follow those Peter Pipers into my house like some freakshow version of Pied Piper.  "Can we pet your cat?"  They'd say. "No!"  I'd say. "Get your chocolate and marijuana hands out of my house!"

mrs_aldrich_and_cat.jpg

But those butt pirates always let the kids in on Mrs. Aldrich's action. They all have a high ho time petting these drugged up cats who just lay there waiting to die.

The one with the orange spot on his nose is Mrs. Aldrich's favorite. Snotlick from two doors down thinks the way to hold a cat is by the arms.  Seeing that cat hang there in agony reminded me of so many of my buddies who had to endure Japanese torture chambers.

I looked at that cat.  That cat looked at me.  With my eyes I told that cat not to worry, Snotlick will be dead soon.

Mrs. Aldrich always cries when they take the cats away. That's the only reason I let them come back every month.

As Cuddly Creatures™ pulled away, and Those Damn Kids returned to throwing rocks at squirrels, I decided to go to bed.

I'll talk at you next week...

lester aldrich_small.jpg

Lester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian MagazineManka 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.

COLOSTOMY_BAG.jpgI 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.

lester_aldrich_bbq.jpgWe had a bunch of assholes from my family (no pun) over to the house yesterday to watch Tigers baseball and have a BBQ.  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 Summer as the season I lost the use of my ass. 

I'll talk at you next week...

lester aldrich_small.jpgLester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian MagazineManka 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_alone.jpg Here it is, another morning that I managed to wake up.  Jesus fucking Christ.  Oh, well...

As I edge toward my 90s, things aren't as funny as they used to be.

It's not as funny when Mrs. Aldrich falls down the steps.  She gets hurt now and I have to get out of my chair to do something about it. 

It's not as funny on the Archie Bunker show when they flush the toilet.  It used to be so funny.  But that was 30 years ago.

It's not as funny when I see Those Damn Kids fall down on their skateboards and break their legs.  There was a time a few years ago when I would laugh for days when that happened.  Now it's just a couple of chuckles and I'm done with it.

Maybe it's this terrible recession and my retirement savings going down the drain - or maybe it's my horrible eyesight and my inability to see the television too clearly - or maybe I'm just dying and that's just not as funny as it used to be.

I'll talk at you next week...

lester aldrich_small.jpg

Lester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian MagazineManka 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.

As you get older, doctors must 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!

ice_cream_man.jpgSummertime 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.

bomb_pop.jpgBut 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_small.jpgLester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian MagazineManka 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.
vfw hall.jpgThere 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 and think that would "make a great movie"!; 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.

vfw_hall_bar.jpg

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...

lester aldrich_small.jpg

Lester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian MagazineManka 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.

In 1944, I was ordered to go to Spain after five months of heavy fighting in eastern France.  I counted 35 kills in my personal quest to get to the Rhine but my fuck-ass superior officer thought I was 'over-zealous' in my hatred for strangers and told me to take a break from killing. 

captain_ralph_jackson.jpg

My superior officer was a pussy - but I won't smear his name here - he was, after all, a decorated hero in the war to end all wars (WWI) and a valuable member of the super-duper war to end all wars (WWIl).  I think Captain Ralph "Ol' Pussy" Jackson (oops) would have been ashamed of himself if he actually thought the allies would win.  But I think he always thought the Nazis would win, so he hedged his bets.

We can only hope Ol' Pussy Jackson is burning in Hell now for being weak.  Though I don't think Satan would have much to do with him.  What does Satan need with pussy ass weak field commanders?

Anyway, I was ordered to go to SpainSouthern Spain.  The only thing I knew about southern Spain was nothing.  I knew they ate goat brains and pig feet but that was it. 

I wasn't expecting to see "La Trucha" (The Trout)La Truca was a flamenco dancer.  And she was the love of my life.  And I don't give a shit if Mrs. Aldrich reads this! 

I never knew a dance could seduce me so.  Once you are in "La Trucha's" grip you pretty much have to kill her to get out. I spent five glorious days with "the trout" and then I had to leave and kill more Nazis.  Ol' Pussy Jackson came to his senses and realized that the Nazis had to be killed.   La Trucha tried keep me with her by threatening my life with her high-heel nail-studded Flamenco shoes.  But I got away... yep... and I'm not saying what happened to La Trucha on that September night in 1944.

Fuck La Trucha!  She might have been a double agent for all I knew.  Fuck that bitch!  As long as Nazis are alive, I must kill them.  I would have killed La Trucha - the love of my life - if she were a Nazi.  I would kill my mother if she were a Nazi. ALL NAZIS MUST DIE!  Don't try to win me over with your flamenco crap.  It won't work!  SCREW YOU, LA TRUCHA!  No fish will defeat democracy!

I realize this has nothing to do with THOSE DAMN KIDS, but sometimes you have to kill others in order to kill yourself.  Capisce?

I'll talk at you next week...

lester aldrich_small.jpg

Lester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian MagazineManka 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.

About Lester Aldrich

Lester Aldrich - Those Damn Kids - Manka Bros. - Octogenarian

Lester Aldrich is a World War 2 and Korean War veteran. He has been a contributing writer for Manka Bros.' Octogenarian Mankazine since he turned 80 (eight years ago). He lives in East Lansing, Michigan with his wife of 65 years and really hates THOSE DAMN KIDS.

 

 

Photos

  • snotty_scotty_crash.jpg
  • toilet_paper_in_my_trees.jpg
  • captain_ralph_jackson.jpg
  • bomb_pop.jpg
  • mrs_aldrich_and_cat.jpg
  • vfw_hall_bar.jpg
  • john_glenn.jpg
  • COLOSTOMY_BAG.jpg
  • elephant_toilet.jpg
  • korean_war_soldier.jpg

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