Hey, Clyde, long time no see. Give me some skin.
What d'ya say, Daddy-o?
Not much. What's happenin', cousin?
Nothin'. I've been here a cotton-pickin' half-hour, sippin' some suds, and this place
is deadsville. What a drag. Nobody's boppin'.
Geez, doesn't that frost you? And you in your best threads, too. Got the old glad rags on, huh?
You know it. Peggers and blue suedes are the ginchiest--perfect with my jellyroll DA hairdo.
What about
my Ivy League look?
Groovesville. The cat's pajamas. You're very with it in the hip button-down shirt, back-buckle pants, and the flat-top hair. You're a real
gay blade, man.
Been makin' the scene lately?
Shoot, no. Been jivin' with the pocket-protector
set, not the cool cats. Now, you gotta keep this under your hat, play it close to the vest. It's nobody else's beeswax. Mum's the word, you dig? 'Cause if you don't, you're cruisin' for a bruisin'. We're talkin' knuckle sandwich.
No sweat. Don't have a cow. I remember you used to mess around with the rinky greasers. You won't have to go all "Blackboard Jungle" on me.
Okie-dokie. Scooch over here now. Here's the deal. Some four-eyed dweebs and I are looking at creating a new social website we're going to call "Bitter." It'll be exclusively for fogies 60 and
over. Instead of getting on the horn with just one friend at a time, those clods'll be able to share their empty day with a nationwide audience that digs their groove. They'll be able to write 140-character odes to Polident and Depends and to recall
the good old days when they had it made in the shade. It'll be bitter-tweet for them. They'll be in fat city, group-forwarding e-mails that plug patriotism and knock Obama and the liberal media. They'll all be writing "Great minds think alike"
and then "Jinx--you owe me a Coke!" They'll have a ball finishing statements like "Whatever happened to respect for your elders? Whatever happened to chivalry? Why are there so many cockamamie kooks with tatoos and tongue studs these days?"
They'll be on Cloud 9 fracturing themselves with dumb-blonde jokes before they call it a day about 8:00 p.m. and catch some Zs. We'll have great security. Any young pipsqueaks try to get on and it's "Chuck you, Farley." We won't have to close
the barn door before the horse gets out, believe thee me. Imagine how many ads we can sell for this outtasight site. We think there's a ton of Boomers and older with a lot of jingle in their jeans who would glom onto a gig like this. We'll
sell 16 tons of ads for the site and really make some bread, some long green, a lotta Washingtons. And that's jake with me!
Yeah, sounds crazy, man. Sounds like you
could make a lot of moolah. Could be a blast--course, you could get the royal shaft, too. I don't mean to be a party-pooper, but you could wind up out to lunch in left field. You could go right down the tube. Ventures like that are
really not my bag. But meanwhile, back at the ranch, look at those chicks that just walked in and sat down over there about two o-clock.
Hey, a couple of party dolls.
Stacked, too. Think they're fast?
Well, let's find out. Let's get on the stick and go rattle their cage. It could be a gas. I got dibs on the blonde with
the classy chassis.
You carrying a torch for her?
I think she's gone, real gone.
Yeah, she's somethin' else. But the redhead is boss, too. She could send me. Let's make our move before some other doofuses horn in on us. Quick, goose it!
Right-o....Hi, ladies, what's your tale, nightingales?
Huh?
You babes really kill us. What say you chug-a-lug those brewskis you're guzzling while my pal and I go to the can to do number one, and then we'll all cut out in my souped-up ragtop. You'll love my wheels. I think
there's a Ford in your future, dolls. I'll pop the clutch, lay a patch, and we'll shag on down to the passion pit.
OMG, you are not gonna be doing any shagging
with us tonight! What are you guys, like 80?
No, just 70.
Oh, my bad. Well, we are
so not gonna get jiggy with a oouple of coffin-dodgers like you. We don't have granddaddy issues. We may be wicked hot but you ain't mad chill. Who do you think you are, rockin' those pastel peggers? Trust me, you ain't
da bomb. You ain't no playas and when it comes to you, we be hatahs. We're unfriending you before we ever friend you. LOL, you just got owned, old timers.
Can
we at least buy you another drink?
Well, yeah, that be coo'. We're down with that. No problemo.
What d'ya dig? What'll ya have, Pabst Blue Ribbon?
My BFF and I'll have an appletini.
An
apple-whatee?
OMG, just tell the bartender. You are a major dorkus malorkus. You're gonna make us ROFL. Am I right, Brittany? Correctamundo?
True dat, sister.
Hey, you girls smoke? Want a weed?
Weed? Dude that's illegal. Keep that stuff away from us. There might be po-po in here.
Fuzz? The heat? Why would they
care if you like fags?
Hey, stick a sock in it! "Fag" is blatant hate speech.
Oh, I see
what you're getting at now. That rings a bell. You thought I meant "queers."
Oh, no, you didn't just say that! Stop dissin' people who are different
from you!
All right already. Don't blow your stack. Don't go ape and wig out on us. What else ya want besides drinks? Some burgers and a whole raft of
fries?
Make it sushi--that's how we roll. It's hella good.
Sure, if that's what you're crave.
Heavy. We'll go over to the bar and order toot sweet.
Awesome. Fierce. Then whyncha go ahead and play a game of pool? That'd be way fun. We'll give
you a holla when the foodage comes.
You wouldn't try to ditch us, now, would you? No way, Jose, right? Wouldn't be very white of you to do that.
Hey, bite me! No more of those ethnic and racial slurs! This is 2012--you can't talk like that. But no, no, we won't bail on you. You dudes are startin' to grow on us--like
moss. I mean, I'm just sayin.' Now go ahead and rock out.
Okie-dokie. Later, gators.
You got it.
...Ashley, quick, let's bounce.
I feel ya, sister. I can't believe they
think we'd hook up with them. Let's hit the slide.
Now that's what I'm talkin' about! Woot!