We were at the mall today and I noticed a large ammount of old people seemed to be lurking about and wrinkling their noses at me. Could it be my nasty jeans with the hole in the knee? Maybe. Or maybe it was because every time they shuffled past I would cackle evily. I'll explain this in a moment. What I also saw was the fact that there seemed to be a bunch of old men asleep in these weird chairs we have now. Fogie Flocks. I thought they should charge them for sleeping in these chairs at the mall. How? A Geezer Meter. *cackle cackle* But what really got me going (after a Mello-Yellow infusion, haha) was when I saw a little old man taking forever and a day to cross the street. And I flashed back to a Simpsons episode. Have you guessed at how I could possibly make the little old man cross they road before he died? That's right. Electric cow catcher. ZZZZZZZZZZ, ah, oy, my aching pacemaker, tell Sophie I--'beeeeeeep'. I was thinking...two warning shocks just to get their blood flowing and then maybe a jumbo one in case they're on morphine or something. And for those nasty little old women who always look at me like I'm carrying some deciese (like, you know, youth and fertility)--a nice piece of mail from the IRS *wink wink* informing them that they haven't paid back-taxes on their little condomenium and that if they don't vacate immediatly giant lizards of doom will fall onto their heads and eat away at their wigs while they're in the middle of a very important bingo final. The reason? A nice hike in their BP or a heart attack. And maybe, just maybe, if I'm lucky and eat all my peas and Jesus loves me, I'll have just shocked her husband with an electric cow catcher. Aahhh...This is a hppy feeling. Knowing I am, in fact, a sick, sick little girl.