1087: TEN-HUT!

"Now folks, I am over sixty years young and the dang ol’ Army thinks that I am just too damn old to track down these Mooslims!  Some educated folks calls them terrorists or radicals, but let’s face it, there all Mooslims, ain’t they?  Now, you see, we are at war with these Mooslims, but you can't be older than forty-two to join the army and shoot the suckers!  This got me to thinkin’ that just maybe the folks, who are in charge of the Army might have things just a lil’ butt backwards, so to speak!  I mean, the way I figure it, instead of sending them young, wet behind the ears, eighteen year olds off to fight, they ought to take us old farts go instead. Shoot, you shouldn't even be able to join no army unit until you hit at least thirty-five.

So hears my figurin’ on this.  To start with, folks in the know, say that eighteen year-old youngin’s think about sex every ten seconds, but us geezers only think about sex just a couple of times a day, if were lucky.  This leaves us more than 28,000 additional seconds per day to think on how we shoot Mooslims.  Hell, that’s over seven hours more!  Look out Mooslims!

I’m on a roll now, so let me finish!  These youngsters haven't lived long enough yet to know what being cranky is and let me tell y’all something, a cranky soldier is a damn dangerous soldier.  You’ve heard us, haven’t you?  We’re always going around sayin’, “My back hurts! I can't sleep, I'm tired and hungry. I’m constipated!” Yep, we are bad-tempered and impatient ol’ boogers, and just maybe letting us kill some Mooslim, who desperately deserves it, might just make us just a lil’ bit easier to get along with.  You know, give us a purpose in life again!

Now I ain’t through!  Let me tell ya, a youngin’ doesn't even like to get out of the sack before ten, but us ol’ farts always get up early to take a leak or move our bowels, so what the hell, are you Army folks listenin’?  I mean, like I said earlier, we’re tired, can't sleep, we’re hungry, our ‘roids bother us and since we’re already up and at ‘em, we may as well be up killing some Mooslims, who hate our guts!  Right?  Damn straight!

Think on this too, if we were caught by them Mooslims, well, we couldn't spill the beans because we forgot where we put the beans in the first place!  Matter of fact, come to think of it, just our name, rank, and serial number would be a real brainteaser.  Do you know what I mean? 

Hey, and boot camp would be easier too!  You Army guys, think on this.  First, you see us old timers are used to getting screamed and yelled at and we're used to soft, tasteless food. Second, we know our way around a gun or two.  I mean, we've been using guns as an excuse to get out of the house for years, just to get away from all the screaming and yelling.  Yes sir, we have had more target practice than most soldiers have had.  Third, you Army boys could lighten up on the obstacle course, just a bit, in the interest of savin’ time and money.  Look at ‘er this way.  I've been in a couple of wars and I never once saw a single twenty foot wall with a rope hanging over the side of it, nor did I ever do any pushups after completing basic training.  Y’all could cut this out.  Oh, and while I’m at it, go ahead and cut out the running part too.  I mean c’mon, don’t you think that it’s kind of a waste of energy, ‘cause even a track star couldn’t outrun a bullet.

Besides, these youngin’s have their whole world ahead of ‘em.  They’re still learning to shave, or start a conversation with a pretty girl or figurin’ out that a baseball cap has a brim to shade their eyes and not the back of their heads or that britches are meant to cover more than their thighs or that tennis shoes last longer if they are tied.  You know important things like that.

So, y’all let us geezers track down them Mooslims, instead of puttin’ youngin’s in harms way.  Just think on it this way.  The last thing them Mooslims would want to see comin’ at ‘em would be a couple million constipated, hungry, sleepy, cranky, butt burnin’, pissed off old farts with bad attitudes and automatic weapons, who know that their best years are already behind them.  Makes sense huh?  You betcha!

One partin’ thought, just to sort of ice the cake, if you follow me.  Y’all could recruit another million women over fifty and on menopause.  Talk about wantin‘ to kill somethin’!  Shoot, why us geezers are after Mooslims, put them menopausal women on the borders!  They’d stop that illegal and drug crap in a matter of days!"

Guys, I cannot take credit for this.  Oh sure, I put some East Texas in it and reworded it a bit, but it was originally done by an unknown author, who I searched for in vain.  My good friend Herman Cryer sent me the original and I want to thank him for it.  If the original author ever gets discovered, I’d certainly like to give him/her the credit that is due.  Thank you.

EPILOGUE: Obama, you insignificant lil' flea, you cannot defeat me! I am backed by a fella, who had spikes driven in both hands and feet, then he was hung on timbers and the only thing holding him up were those spikes, then he was stabbed and given up for dead, then he was entombed, then he walked out of that tomb and ascended up into the sky and after all of that he still lives today! Yes, this is my backing! What's yours? George Soros? I am laughing whole-heartily right now! How small you really are Obama! Oh yeah, if you think this fella backing me is something, I just can't wait 'til you meet his father! Good luck, hehehehehe!

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