Observations of an 'Old Fart'
'Old Farts' & Hipsters
You too will one day attain the status of an 'old fart'. It's sort of a trade-off for having excessive nose-hair growth and no teeth. Along with advanced age and false teeth, you will acquire great wisdom. Once you've achieved this lofty plateau, you have earned the right to spout off all the wisdom you've acquired, along with the occasional 'pull-my-finger' joke, which never gets old.
In contrast, 'hipsters' and 'teenyboppers' ...everything they know about life, they learned from their adolescent friends while playing video games in their parents' basement.
As an 'old fart' we reserve the right to hold those kids who are barely able to sprout stubble with the same disdain they hold us. Especially those 'snippity' young kids with acne who write scripts for sitcoms that ridicule anyone above the age of fourteen. The only thing more pathetic than a hipster is one that still thinks he's one at forty.
Karma & Punks!
Here's where equilibrium in the universe turns the tables on the hipsters. In twenty years or less they will begin to resemble us, the older generation they made fun of. By then a new younger generation of 'snippity' fourteen year old kids will be making fun of them.
"De ja' vu, punk!"
I will be laughing so hard by then I will probably fall face-first into my bowl of soggy cereal, but who cares?
You see, the universe has this 'karma' thing going where you become the object of your scorn. It happens to kids who tell their parents, "I will never treat my kids the way you do me! That's right. They grow up to be their parents!" ‘Karma’ also explains why all the cool kids and bullies from Jr. High become bald, pot-bellied, and can only find work at their dad's used car lot, and wear polyester leisure suits.
See how ‘karma‘ is?!
The 'hipster' guide to the future
So let me warn you of your fate. The older you get, the more you become an absurd caricature of yourself. Only you're not laughing because you're so full of stool softener, you're afraid you'll mess your Depends undergarments.
All the things you used to laugh at your parents about, you guessed it …you will become. The foibles, the idiosyncrasies, the quirks ...remember Aunt Earline and those fruitcakes? She was once -gasp- normal!
And the crazy uncle with the toupee, wearing a fanny pack, and thinks he's still twenty-something? You guessed it. He used to be one of the cool kids, he just can't let go of his past.
Say hello to yourself, in a few more years.
Growing older is like staring into the fun house mirror. Is that me, you ask?
You dang kids!
As you get older you will probably collect stuck-up cats, obsess over which brand of laxative your prefer, surround your recliner with a wall of Kleenex boxes, organize your week's activities by your pill box, and shake your wrinkled fist at kids when their ball lands in your yard!
"You dang kids! Get out of my yard," as you cock your BB gun -your wife quit buying you BB's ten years ago but it still makes you feel like 'The Rifleman'. Remember those westerns you watched on TV when you were a 'dang kid' and wondered why old people were so cranky?
"Dear...", my wife interrupts.
That's their yard. Yours' ended at the fence. Now settle down and eat your oatmeal before it gets lumpy!"
"Grumble, mutter, mutter" - followed by more indistinct muttering.
"Have some more prunes, dear", she soothes.
The price of prune juice
The good news is you can say anything and get by with it. You can express whatever opinion you please and people will politely smile, and wink, and nod their head while you go off on the girl at the checkout counter.
"That's not the brand stool softener I prefer! What do you mean, the price of prune juice went up twenty cents?"
This is where you can rant for ten minutes about what twenty cents used to buy and why the Woolworths' was so much better than the mall.
The good news for the poor girl at the counter is that in a few minutes your bowels will unleash a torrent of unnatural bowel noises and demand you abandon your tantrum to stutter-step off to the bathroom as fast as your walker will let you.
Everything has its perks; Being an 'old fart' is no exception:
- You get to be condescending to everyone. All the rules about being nice just got thrown out the window, along with the contents of your bedpan. You get to talk down to people. Names like "sonny" and "whipper-snapper" are now available in your repertoire of condescending names you toss around like your applesauce.
- You get to laugh at kids trying to figure how to dial a phone number in a rotary phone.
- You are now a subject matter expert on ancient history and old technology like VCR's and eight-track players.
- Walk buck-naked to the bathroom whenever you darn well please!
- You get to fart in public without having to say you're sorry! No holding back, just let one 'rip' when you feel like it, and watch people scurry for entertainment
- All the 'jello' and ice cream you want. No more broccoli for you!
- Lecture people for any infraction no matter how minor. You can do this whenever you feel so inclined.
It's my obligation as an 'old fart' to rain on your parade! I can tell the hipsters, "Quit gloating, 'sonny'! One day you'll be as obsolete as my flip-phone!"
Uh oh! I just heard those disgusting bowel noises again!
Leave me be!
I have more to say about this but am unable to remember anything more recent than forty years ago. So leave me be while I eat my applesauce and watch old episodes of 'The Rifleman'.
"Woman?! Bring me my BB gun. Those dang kids are in our yard again."
So what if you didn't like my story? I'm an 'old fart' and I really don't care!
How do you rate as an 'old fart'?
- I can't stand applesauce.
- I already have a polyester leisure suit.
- I still live in my parents' basement.
- The girl behind the counter refuses to wait on me.
- 'Pull-my-finger' is still hilarious.
- Prunes are delicious!
If you hate applesauce and think prunes are terrible, and have no clue what a leisure suit is, you're not 'there' yet. Go back to playing your video games in your parents basement. If the girl at the counter cringes when she sees you and you've recently worn your leisure suit; then no, I don't want to 'pull your finger'!
Note to readers who happen to be used car salesmen wearing polyester suits: if you were offended by this and happen to be related to anyone who is an especially vindictive lawyer; I have omitted this from future revisions and am now attending sensitivity therapy for insensitive humor writers.
© 2020 Jim Henderson