Is there a line, age or otherwise, between being a curmudgeon and being an old coot?
Lunch? Made by an actual woman that doesn’t mind? I reckon I could take the garbage out before the game or at halftime for that. Got any bugs you need squished or jars opened?
But doesnt that also drive away a curmudeon’s best friend, the “working” woman?
Old Coots can do “pull my finger” to young innocents with impunity. Curmudgeons still have to blame the dog if women are present.
Are you not answering the beer question because you are afraid a bunch of kids will see it, decide they like your brand, and raid the big round-door 1950’s beer fridge in your garage?
At my age and disposition, the only working gals I have any real interest in are the Dealers, or the ones that bring me food or booze. I tip them well, and they flirt a little. Maybe next time, they remember what I order, and slip me a piece of cake on the house. Or they accidentally pour a double, and hate to be wasteful. Or the Dealers get the Pit Boss to summon the drink girl, because they know I’ll be needing bourbon & coke while I play.
Do you live in a castle and wear suits of armor? Are you looking forward to the Renaissance?
Don’t do it in the kitchen then…
No, because I live a a stand your ground/castle doctrine state, which means if I catch kids steeling my beer, I can whip their ass. Or worse, put em to work in the yard. Without any candy ass Ipodtweetermybook crap distracting them from tending my damn lawn.
And I answered the beer question. Beer should be regular, and cold. Unless it’s English or German and dark, it which case it can be room temperature.
My home is my castle. My armor hasn’t been shiny in decades. My Noble Steed is actually a lawnmower. Dulcinea turned out to be a lesbian. And yet I keep tilting at windmills. Which are clearly designed by loud young lawn abusers.
And I am not looking forward to the Renaissance. Change is bad. Look what the Designated Hitter rule did to baseball.
“Old man, if you give my food the dog one more time, I’m gonna kick you till you’re dead.”
Do you date much?
How often to you get an…er, make whoopie?
I may be a curmudgeon, but I am also a Southern Gentleman. We don’t post about such things. Unless we’re drunk. Which I’m not. Yet.
I beg your pardon, Sir.
:rolleyes:
Now see? That’s mannerly. Well, except rolling eyes guy, which I choose to overlook. The world needs more mannerly behavior. Or legalized dueling.
Have you ever actually yelled these words: “Get off my lawn you stupid kids!” or any reasonable variation of…
What? You mean you actually pay heed to those Brit panty-waists whose asses we saved and them damn Kraut sausage-eaters whose asses we kicked? I’m disappointed, that’s not curmudgeonly enough.
Hell, except for the heteorsexual part you could be me then! Wanna come over and hang out at my pool big boy? The backyard is privacy fenced so the neighbors won’t know if our bathing suits “accidentally” slip off in the pool. I got beer! Real beer!
While you cetainly have something resembling a point, and speaking only for myself here, good beer is good beer. Germans didn’t invent it, but they went a long way towards perfecting it. The Brits do pretty damned well by the stuff, too.
As someone who was damned near weaned on Anheuser-Busch products (my mom worked at the St. Louis brewery for 29 years), I have to honestly say that, for the most part, American mass-produced beers just don’t stand up to European brews.
Can you explain the riding lawnmower to me?
It’s hard to hone, louder than those damned subwoofers, and means you have to buy a treadmill, too (or you will not achieve cootdum). And it’s slower!
You have a leaf-blower, too, don’t you?