| Synopsis: |
With old age comes grey hair, dodgy knees, a sudden passion for re-runs of Murder, She Wrote, and an apparent God-given licence to speak one's mind and be generally offensive without fear of retribution. Under the guise of passing on the benefits of their experience to family members or just casual acquaintances, old people exercise their right to swear, cuss and insult as they please. These feisty philosophers take no prisoners as they use their scalpel-like tongues to dissect modern life and the younger generations. If challenged over their outrageous comments, they'll play the age card: you know the sort of thing - 'I'm eighty-six, I've fought for my country, and if I want to call you a no-good, lowdown, useless fuckwit, then I'll call you a no-good, lowdown, useless fuckwit, Vicar.'Other gems include:It bugs me when people say, 'Life is short.' What the hell does it mean? Life is the longest damn thing anyone ever does! Are they going to do something that's longer? Son, if it's got tits or tyres, you're gonna have trouble with it. We all have our disappointments in life, son, and I'm talking to mine right now.The only way in which life resembles a bed of roses is that you encounter a lot of pricks along the way. Sure I'm surprised you can't get a job, son. I heard the world was crying out for someone who is lazy, has no qualifications but can spit gum into a waste paper basket from ten feet.Don't you think you might stand a better chance of becoming a captain of industry if you got rid of some of that metal shit on your body - like the nose stud and the eyebrow rings? Donald Trump may have a crap haircut but I bet he doesn't have pierced fucking nipples.Son, if life was fair, Elvis would still be alive and all the impersonators would be dead.The secret of a happy life is to run out of cash and air at exactly the same time. |