In the 3rd grade a red laser went into my eyeball. It tickled my brain, and I laughed and laughed at the experience. My old, grumpy-wumpy doctor said that lasers were dangerous to us humans. But this dinosaur doctor was an old-timey, and didn't know about new age technology.
That's the problem with anyone over the age of 37. They believe butter should be churned and bras should be made of twine and iron. Old people do have worth, however. They read all the books that would otherwise sit untouched at Barnes and Noble locations across the country. Large stacks of books would stuff all sections, and us young people wouldn't have the room to enjoy the magazine section.
I visited an old folks home on Valentine's Day, to pass out valentine's and spread my cheer. There was an old man there, named Stan, who owned a pet bird named Timington. Timington was an old-timey bird, with grey feathers and a beak that could only eat mushed up crackers. He had been around since the war, and his vernacular proved it. "Throw a grenade at those Japs!," Timington screeched when we entered the room. "Nazi's! Nazi's!," when we handed Stan his valentine candy.
I invented a new candy, you know. It's for obese computer scientists. Think Fat Seinfeld mailman from Jurassic Park. The candy looks like computer wires, but tastes like a combination of skittles and gummy drops. Obese computer scientists won't have to worry about sneaking candy around..."No no, Mr. Boss-man, I'm just organizing these computer wires, sir."
I'll pass out all candy profits to sad hobos. To unfriendly religious types. I'll divide all profits to street violinists. To injured trapeze artists. To retired cowgirls. All profits to uneducated foreigners. To cold toddlers. To discouraged weightlifters. To bold scientists.