Home > Postaday2011, Random Thoughts, Simple Pleasures > Ol’ Man Sits In A Rocking Chair And Tells It Like It Is

Ol’ Man Sits In A Rocking Chair And Tells It Like It Is

Hi there, America. If I could, please allow me to take off my Shlog pants, slip into my relaxed-fit, no-nonsense “What has happened to this country” trousers and ease into my old rocking chair out there on the front porch. Ooooh yeah, that’s the stuff. Now, America’s values are in trouble my friends! Time was, a man could head down to the town square, beat the feces out of a draft-dodging, free-thinking hippie doper and be home in time to tuck in junior, who, by the way, has been cruisin’ for a bruisin’ himself listenin’ to this rock’n’roll music. Down what perilous path is this land of the free traveling? I didn’t lose an arm in ‘Nam to live like this. In fact, my severed limb is probably still rotting at the bottom of that rice paddy, being nibbled on by communist amphibians. And for what? In days of yore, if I wanted to kick the teeth out of some lousy beatnik at a WWII ticker-tape parade, all I had to do was bend over, lace up my boots, and go to town. The times have changed. For the worse, I might add. I didn’t raise six kids during the Great Depression just so I could say that I did. Which I did. Now we’ve got this Elvis Presley character shakin’ his weener around on live television. How am I supposed to explain that to my grandkids? If I tried to pull that garbage in a foxhole in Korea, believe you me we’d all be eating sushi and bamboo out of tin cans at this very moment. Now I’ve got these neighbor kids, listening to their jazz music at all hours, when I just want an honest night’s sleep. I spent the duration of the Coolidge administration shining shoes down on lower 43rd street, and all these kids can do is play Intendo and Sexbox. My old man would have brought me out to the pole barn and taken a switch to my behind, if he wasn’t still out there in the U.S.S.R. laying the beat-down on commies. Hell, even the sun was better in the 40’s, if you ask me. Just hangin’ around up there, not bothering anyone. Now you’ve got the spawn of the few remaining hippie laggards that I didn’t beat the crap out of back in ’68, talking about “UV rays” and “melting ice caps!” You think that’s the sun’s fault, you little Stalin-worshipper? The only reason the sun is burning your precious skin and melting the world’s ice is because you’ve been touching yourself at night! I didn’t spend four years as a POW in Germany to be bombarded with such ignorance! If I had complained about the sun when I was working 16 hour days on my grandpa’s farm after we closed out WWI I would have had my mouth washed out with soap, and then dear grandpappy would have slapped me for not thanking him for sparing a ration of suds! Did I even mention how I busted my sack raising eight kids while Kennedy was busy running this country straight into the ground? And on top of that, we’ve got flappers going wild in the streets, revealing their petticoats! Barf! Did I just say barf? I will not have modern society sully my way of speak! I am off to wash my own mouth out with hand-crafted pumice. After that, I’ll be back out in this rocking chair, tellin’ it like it is.

Just to show you what these young vagrants have been up to, here’s an internet video of my friend Little Braddy singing “Crank Dat” by Soulja Boy.

  1. No comments yet.
  1. No trackbacks yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s


humor | musings | fiction

Little Fears

Tales of whimsy, humor and courgettes

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple

Growing older is inevitable. Growing up is optional.


Seer of the invisible, scribe of the unwritten

Regie's Blog

The pen is mightier than the sword ...unless someone is trying to stab you with a sword. Then, it's the sword ...definitely the sword.

Idiot Joy Showland

This is why I hate intellectuals

Cooking Without Limits

Food Photography & Recipes

Dalton's Magazine

Spanning the world with pieces of think


Empowered by guys in short pants to write whatever I want, whenever I want, for no money whatsoever.

Highest Form of Whit

Bigger. Bolder. Bloggier.*

Suzie Speaks

The Adventures Of a Thirty-Something Life


.....teasing the stunted masses with my opposable thumbs....

The Brown Road Chronicles

Stories about country living, old houses, dirt roads, fresh air and other amusing (and possibly even inspirational) anecdotes!

I Miss You When I Blink

and other classics

a comedian's notebook

taking comedy seriously, but not too seriously

Still Skeptical After All These Years

Jim Wheeler - Rational Skeptic

The Shameful Sheep

shit storms, shame, and stories that make you cringe

pen pals on pills

there are no meds for crippling separation anxiety

%d bloggers like this: