Why I hate old people
Before we start, I am old. And by old I mean REALLY fucking old. I am so old it is not possible to select my date of birth on Facebook, but, as you already know, I exist outside of the way you normal human beings live and as a result I do not look, act or feel my age.
Now, you are all going to be old one day (unless you die prematurely from illness, road accidents, animal attacks, or a bizarre sexual game gone wrong (you could put a lemon up your arse and find that the lemon was in fact a fully active grenade…)) and that means that you will change in physicality, mind and all of your god damn manners will go out of the window.
Old people seem to think that they can do whatever the fuck they like. They feel that they OWN this world. They show us this by simply walking to the front of queues in supermarkets, walking to the front of the queue when getting a bus, stopping in front of us and tutting at us when we say, “excuse me.” It doesn’t matter whether they are male or female, this fucking queue-jumping, path-blocking seems to be part of their routine.
The problem is that MOST younger people let these old fucks get away with it. They watch an old person walk in front of them and don’t bat an eyelid. Inside they are seething with white hot murderous rage, but a little voice in their head is going “Oh, but they are old.” So fucking what? Waiting in a queue is NOT going to kill these old bastards, it is not going to speed up their biological clock in anyway and if either of these is the reason for them queue jumping they should NOT be out with the public! Now, I do have an acceptance for those with some sort of disability, walking stick, fucking motion sensor device fitted to their face, or a cyborg leg, but even still I can’t help myself from wanting to punch their head. Not a hard enough punch to kill them, just a cheeky jab just to say, you can do it this time but next time I WILL kill you.
I was sat on the bus recently and an old person sat next to me. It was an old man. I am the sort of person that tends to not have people ever sitting next to them. I just have that look about me that screams, ‘come on over, sit next to me and I may or may not start stabbing you.’ But this old fella was unperturbed and plonked himself down nicely, next to me. Not a care in the world. Well, he didn’t have much choice really as there were no other seats, still, that doesn’t usually stop people from avoiding me. I decided to read a book whilst my new seat-companion decided that it would be fine for him to sit on a third of my seat as well as his own, his elbow slotted in snugly into the joint between my forearm and bicep. I moved my arm and adjusted myself so that he was not ‘on’ me, but he just waited until I stopped moving and put himself back the way he was. It was at this point that I became aware of his smell. Not BO, but more the smell of food that is just on the cusp of rotting. This revolting fucking smell was combined with mint. After three attempts of shifting this walking corpse he actually tutted in frustration at ME! Ok, now I would be just as irritated if a younger person had put me in this situation, but the fact that it was an old gripper made it much more frustrating thanks to his near-death smell.
As well as the rudeness and the fucking smell, there is also the look of some of these once humans, the glassy dead eyes, the slightly grilled look to their flesh and the zombie-shuffle. Some of them look like their bones are gagging to just punch a whole through the paper mache flesh. And if it did they would not bleed. No. Instead there would be wisps of putrid dust. Decay. Misery. I can’t even eat in the same room as these creatures. As I keep saying, I am no oil painting, but sitting in a room full of old people is like sitting in a room surrounded by corpses emitting the last of the natural gasses from their rotting bodies.
Old people love babies and children. They claw at youth with their bony claws, their bulbous tongues licking their lips, poking through black false teeth. Children know what these pensioners are doing. They are very rightfully scared, terrified as a tiny piece of their life-force is sucked away by the old person that is touching them. They crave youth. They want to feel that warmth that has long since left their useless bodies.
I don’t like old people. One day this is going to happen to you. This is your fate. It is unavoidable. Unless you act now. Feed yourself to a cow or vacuum your eyes. It’s for the good of the young.