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.