Hello Darkness! The Official Blog of Helen Keller

This is a public service announcement from your friendly neighbourhood Comment Corner:

Old people...attention. As your waning faculties may not have yet informed you of these recent developments, you old people are really fucking old and need to stay away from society. Imagine a finely tuned engine. Imagine it humming, chromed and glorious. Now, imagine some mean retard kid tossing a salmonella filled peanut butter and jelly sandwhich right into the motherfucking flywheel. Watch in horror as preserved strawberry smears all over the shiny chrome. Fear as the engine sputters and chokes. Repulse as the salmonella prevents any sort of meaningful clean up other than to don hazmat suit and bleach the damn thing down. Also, imagine a faint smell of urine, vanilla and impending death.

That pissy-smell ugly sandwich is you.

I refer specifically to my recent trip to Loblaws where I was forced to endure old people being old. I guess once upon a time, old people back then used to fuck around in the grocery store line. Perhaps it was a simpler time and a simpler Canada used to find meaningful companionship between grocer and shopper. Maychance they whittled away the day exchanging tales of adventure.

Well jumping goddamn Jesus, those days are sure fucking gone. Unlike Yannic "Only good in the IHL/AHL" Perrault, they're never coming back.

Yes, I was forced to live a grand portion of the lives of Effie and John, married for over 60 cocksucking years. Also Old Crab, the cashier. Maybe she had a name, I don't care. Effie, John and Old Crab had themselves a mighty fine discussion as they loaded each.. .and every ....single.....item......singularily.... ..into the cart. Each item scanned and packed had a story. Each story was mind numbingly bad. Eventually, John left with the groceries. Either he got bored with these two or he crapped himself, but he made his escape nonetheless. Effie and Old Crab continuted to cackle that old person "running out the clock" laugh that usually precedes a brain bursting stroke. Old Crab commented that she liked Effie's husband, Effie responded that Old Crab could have him! Bwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! Effie, you old fucking cut-up you! Be careful with that joke, much like your hip, it's a goddamn fragile antique. You could tell these two were getting excited, their vag's were puffing out dust right on through the purple lycra pants.

It was about this time that I was imagining knocking Effie to the ground with the sheer force of wind exuded if I were to slam the Coca-Cola fridge door shut. Once there, I would take two plastic Coke bottles and hammer out the drum-beat to NIN's Perfect Drug on her purple-haired head.

My drum kick would be to spin around and hoof the other old lady behind me, who has spent the entire fucking ordeal hovering close looking for a way to sneak her tub of blueberry yoghurt onto the conveyor belt.

I fucking drove home at mach nine with my groceries, running over a couple of homeless people sleeping in the middle of the road because I had no time to even fake trying to avoid them. I eventually calmed down with repeated showings of Logan's Run.

In short old people. Your time has passed. Honestly. Some of us have fucking lives which require us to be there. Also, I don't need any tired old speech from old people about slowing down, smelling the roses or enjoying life. I figured that shit out on my own and waiting in line at Loblaws while three old shits relive invented glory days is NOT a small point of life worth experiencing.

Therefore, could old people please create a colony of farts on Baffin Island. Food, medication, bingo tickets and liquor will be air-dropped thrice weekly. You'll probably receive about the same amount of telephone calls from relatives.

It would make at least one life easier.