Cheer up, you old hellbeast! You're about to embark on a new and exciting future that cannot be generated by repeated hospital visits or those bullshit "virtual reality" devices that you regularly see on the Sci-Fi Network!
You are born. You live. You get old. You die. With the exception of Dick Clark, this simple sequence sums up every living creature's existence on the planet Earth. It could very well encompass the life span of any creature on any other planet throughout our solar system barring the planet on that one episode of "Star Trek" where the old people were actually young people and vice versa, and although I don't exactly remember what happened in that episode, I think it's safe to say that somebody shot a laser beam at somebody else while yet another character mentioned something about a "hull breach." Poets and other chronically unemployed people have been bitching about our brief, fleeting existence for thousands of years now, and despite the fact that most of them are fortunately dead at this point, new ones keep springing up to lament upon our short time on Earth. As long as we continue to be born, we will continue to get old and eventually die. Some of us may luck out and either get jabbed in the skull with a knitting needle until we are successfully aborted, and others of us may have our DNA put into magic scientific genie lamps where we are turned into futuristic cyborgs that roam the Earth looking for renegade humans to kill, but the majority of us will undoubtedly succumb to the cold grip of death's elderly embraces.
Mankind currently knows no way to escape death, and as a result we must face the cruel reality that most of us are going to continue to age in a rather linear fashion each year until we successfully stop living. The human race has always respected and admired our elders, at least until the present time. In ancient Egypt, old people were given solar-powered temples made out of solid gold and polished by the evil alien Nazi overlords who helped them with the construction of these luxurious shrines to their highly comical gods. Of course the Egyptians leaders would then tip over the pyramid, thereby crushing the elderly people beneath them like a June Bug under a Humvee, but that was a very graceful way to die back then just like how Islamic fundamentalists believe it's equally luxurious to strap bombs to your testicles and run inside a crowded bus station when the local "Nuns and Crippled Orphans Society" is passing by. Native Americans, who were known as "Indians" before that term became highly insensitive and racist due to Cleveland's baseball team routinely losing games even before they had a chance to play them, had a very strict set of customs revolving around respecting their elders. Go try to rent any movie about Native Americans and I guarantee you that there will be at least nine thousands scenes featuring very, very, very, very old people sitting in front of a fire and saying very, very, very, very boring and nonsensical gibberish in a monotone voice. All the other Native Americans would say, "oh really, that's just fascinating Spitting Duck Turkey Frog," generally humoring the old people and making them feel comfortable until a non-Native American American came by and sold them trick beads infected with AIDS. This is assuming the old person was named "Spitting Duck Turkey Frog," which is a very common Native American name, at least according to my research of six beers. Hell, even us stupid white people used to be nice to the elderly back in the 1950s or so. We refused to mug or assault them on a regular basis, and if that's not paying reverence to somebody, I don't know what is.
However, as is the nature of mankind, times change. People change. Feelings change. Traffic lights change. Old people have absolutely nothing to look forward these days except telemarketers harassing them on their deathbed, medical bills piling up like government nuclear waste landfills, and empty promises of their son who repeatedly swears to visit them in the hospital but instead ends up spending the day watching the all-new Spike TV and drinking Ajax under the kitchen table. All kids wish they were teenagers. All teenagers wish they were adults. All adults wish they were teenagers, or at least fucking one on a regular basis. Note that nobody wishes to be an elderly person in this day and age, which is for a very good reason. There is absolutely no appeal in getting old these days as nobody respects you, nobody gives you any special rights, and the only "perk" you get is a half-price discount off a greasy, overpriced, sweating lump of carbon residue labeled "French Fried Fiesta Breakfast Platter" at Denny's. Well, that is, until now.
"Grams For Grandmas" is the new non-profit organization I am starting up here at Something Awful headquarters, unless of course it actually starts generating a profit, in which case it will be a "non-profit for profit" service and I can begin callously stepping on the backs of all those who helped me reach the position I obtained, just as I have done with this website. The entire theory behind "Grams For Grandmas" revolves around three complex and highly scientific points:
1) It is not fun to become really fucking old.
2) Narcotics are fun but very illegal.
3) If you take narcotics on a regular basis, you will more than likely die before you grow old.
Economists estimate that by the year 2005, Social Security will consist of nothing but seven two-dollar bills and a postcard depicting a sunrise in Utah with the caption "wish you were here" scrawled across it in red Magic Marker. Additionally, elderly people will make up over 72% of the American public by that time, swarming into our hospitals and retirement homes like reporters on those ugly-ass mutant Iranian twin sisters who are being cut apart with state-of-the-art Iranian hacksaws and chains. The government is clearly incapable of rewarding people for getting old, as President George W. "Double-yoo" Bush Jr. wants to instead spend more money on making Middle-Eastern people explode while American flags wave in the background and we're all spammed to death with pro-USA frisbee flyer advertisements. Since the public sector refuses to bribe elderly people in exchange for them not dying, it's up to us, the private sector, to make the hopes and dreams of the elderly come true. I don't have any clue what their hopes and dreams are, so I'm going to instead project my hopes and dreams upon them and pray for some entertaining results.
Smoke out and get loaded, grandma! Tonight's your night to shine!
Grams For Grandmas seeks to make life easier and way more fun for the remarkably old people in America by cramming their nervous system so full of illegal narcotics that every day will be a bright, sunny, exciting new adventure for them. Think about it; the main reason people abuse illegal narcotics is so they may "escape" from their harsh, cruel reality where they regularly say things such as "get off my fly tip, dawg" and "would you like fries with that?" The glorious world of drug abuse provides a sunny day for these sullen Sallies, a world full of wonderful new adventures that routinely involve them dry humping carpet samples or trying to eat an entire police officer. Elderly people over the age of 100 need this kind of fabulous escape from their dreary life of bedridden depression, and they also deserve to be awarded for living so long and failing to die even once. Grams For Grandmas will hook up these senior citizens with the illegal narcotic of their choice, ranging from cocaine to heroin to the blue-colored Nuke in "Robocop 2" that made your eyelids fall down. These lucky folks will then be allowed to interact with other near-dead folks who are so doped up that they're convinced the walls are speaking to them in Latin and trying to persuade them to vote Buchanan.
When applying for the Grams For Grandmas program, entrants will be charged a one-time processing fee, as well as a two-time "processing the processing fee" fee, which will probably appear multiple times on their credit card bills... you know, just to make sure we charged them correctly. The applicant will then be asked the following series of questions:
1) Are you old?
2) I mean, like really old?
3) No, like even older than that? I mean like really, really, really, REALLY old?
4) Does the idea of a crack buffet line appeal to you?
If the applicant fails to answer all of the questions because they're so elderly that they lack the ability to properly move their mouth in a fashion so that key vowels and consonants are emitted from it, then they are allowed into Grams For Grandmas. If somebody tries to trick us, like a wily 99-year old who forged their driver's license so it says they're 100, then we'll have no choice but to place them in our "Guns For Grandmas" program, which revolves around key staff members shooting them with various handguns, then proceeding to mutilate their corpses with key staffs. If their check bounces, then they are put into the "Garages For Grandmas" program, where a bunch of elderly people are forced into a small, improperly ventilated car garage and given one crowbar to beat the others to death with so they may survive, all filmed and sold to Fox as a gritty new reality television show entitled "Behind Closed Doors: the Secret Lives of the Elderly" which is simultaneously too hot for TV and too hot to handle. In fact, it's so hot that if you tried to watch it, you would combust and die. If you even try to think about watching it, then we'll stab your family members in the face with fireplace pokers. That's how hot this show is, folks.
The most famous ugly old crazy hag grandma of them all, Carol Channing, in flower format.
Once accepted into Grams For Grandmas, the elderly person will allowed to choose from our exotic "Bucket of Narcotics" and pick their own custom, designer drug of the month. For example, July offers "Kooky Ketamine," a delicious home-brewed concoction that will have Ol' Lady Clementine thinking she's looking out of the eyes inhabiting Jimmy Carter's hair! She'll be able to taste the color red, fly across tropical landscapes inhabited by strange and beautiful creatures who resemble a comb and act like a comb only they're called "Gwerno Beasts," and feel as if she and the universe were one entity inhabiting the same great Arby's of Heaven. Also she'll finally be able to figure out the deep metaphysical message behind Christian Slater's hit movie "Gleaming the Cube," as well as Patrick Swayzee's "Roadhouse." August brings forth "Meth Madness," where it's an utter madhouse... OF FANTASTIC SAVINGS! Imagine a trough of shining fake steel, packed brim to brim with only the best and most refined methamphetamines that our cook, Joe "One Eyed" Jenkins, has to offer! We use only the best and highest quality rat poison and industrial cleaning solvents in our meth, and we pass the savings onto you, the old person who's about to die a prolonged, painful death! In addition to our monthly theme drug, well months, we have an email list that applicants may sign up for and get complimentary free spam mail that takes advantage of their inability to see coherent words that form a certain pattern and make some degree of sense if you look at them in the right lighting. These exclusive email offers contain such wonderful deals as "don't reply to this message in order to join our $100 a month eBook club" and "if you fail to read this, you have already subscribed to our service and owe us a whole assload of money in your last will and testament, you old bag of rotting flesh."
Overall, we feel that Grams For Grandmas will completely change and revolutionize the way we treat and feel about our elderly. For example, we'll suddenly start treating them with dinner plates full of pills with red crossbones on them, and we'll start feeling like, "hey, old people doped up on a bucket full of horse tranquilizers is pretty goddamn funny, especially after I've been drinking." As for the actual people in Grams For Grandmas... well, they'll all be too bombed out of their mind to complain about anything, and if they even try, we'll slip them one of those pills featured predominantly on the ABC "After School Specials" that turned Fred Savage into a lean, mean, date-rape machine who rammed his tongue down Winnie Cooper's throat after the prom. After all, we should reward all the old fuckers in our society, not treat them like the outcasts they actually are. Since showing reverence and respect is far too annoying and time consuming for me, I figure spiking them out of their decrepit old minds is clearly the next best thing. After all, since this is a non-profit service, what I am doing just has to be in their best interests, unless of course Fox picks up the rights to "Behind Closed Doors: the Secret Lives of the Elderly." If that happens then fuck it, I'll give the old bastards a jug of Clorox and laugh all the way to the bank.
For Customer Use:
Ryan "OMGWTFBBQ" Adams here. I am sick. Like for reals. Doctor says I have the ole tonsillitis which doesn't surprise me in the least as I've managed to contract it somehow at least once a year. I have one weak tonsil, and as much as I want them to take the damned thing out, the doctors keep saying it's good to have. It's also apparently good to shoot yourself out of a cannon and into a well. I'm not a doctor, but I play one on the net.
I'm still playing Planetside, despite all the bugs. OMGLOLBBQ on Markov. The WTF is apparently an abomination against man and God. But you can't have God in your name, either.Sweet Jesus, I'm rambling. Lemme check my temperature to find out if I'm delirious yet. 101.2 Time for Tylenol. And time for today's Comedy Goldmine so I can go back to bed. You know how sometimes people will have pets do human-like things like eat with a tool or kinda belch out a sound that sounds like a word, or refinance a car loan? Well, what if they were people?
I'm going to have nightmares now on top of the need to rip my own throat out.
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
A real friend doesn't move until the middle of August, ensuring temperatures in the 90s and a humidity that turns boxers into moist balls of ruined cotton.
Expendable? You must be joking.
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