The Psychotic Cow

I have decided that I will most likely kill myself when I reach 60. It seems like a good number. Purely for the reason that I do not want to be one of these old people that I want to poke, trip and generally hit with my car.

This isn’t all the old people though, just a few, the grumpy, demanding and full of shit ones that we call Oxygen Thieves (OTs from here on out).

The OTs are those old people that go shopping at six in the evening or on a Saturday morning when they’ve had the option to go earlier and had all week, you know, the ones that get in your way while you’re trying to pop in to the shop to get something after you’ve been working all day. They are those old people who see someone younger and demand respect from them. I’m sorry but fuck you, you earn a persons respect you don’t just receive it because you managed to live forever. They are the one’s that take advantage of those signs at the banks and wherever else saying “Please allow the elderly and disabled people to the front of the queue”. Disabled people, fine, but you know what, the elderly are quite capable of standing in a queue like anyone else. If you’re 8 months pregnant does it count as being disabled? Because I can imagine a very pregnant woman can feel a lot more discomfort standing in a banks queue for 20 minutes than an old dude who’s just popping down there for the fifth time this week to get his bank statement.

My personal favourite thing about this lot though? They are the ones that get in their cars hopped up on their pain medication or whatever and go out on the road to be a hazard to everyone else. Maybe I’m biased because we have an old age home around the corner but seriously, these people are dangerous, sometimes without the drugs.  I’ve had ones brake erratically in front of me, not stop at stop streets and nearly hit me, swerve and nearly hit the oncoming car and well, we all know those that drive 40 all the ding dong merrily way home.

Perhaps all this goes back to a traumatic experience as a child. Perhaps I should sue my school for skewing my view of old people by making me go to that old age home when I was five and visit some random grumpy old git who terrified the crap out of me. Or perhaps I’m right and we’ll have our own version of “Hurling Day”.

My grandparents on my fathers side are these people, except he sold his car after driving through a third wall. I don’t talk to them anymore though since they poisoned our two cats. I would hurl them myself if I could.