So now that the war has dragged on and the younguns are done for, they figure us old folk can fight. Well, they're right and they should have let us join up years ago.
You know and I know that there's nothing meaner than a geezer. If we'll run you off our lawn with a shotgun, imagine how we'll deal with the enemy on our turf. Hell, we don't even need guns. Pete killed a rattlesnake with a shovel the other day. Just plain flattened it and cut its head off. And I don't want to brag, but I pegged a coyote in the head with a brick last year.
I was raised in a shanty with a dirt floor and no running water. Sometimes we fought the dog for somethin' he'd killed. The rats were so big they chased the cat. So this army deal seems pretty good. Especially the food. The MRE meatloaf is like my wife used to make, just the right amount of salt and gristle.
Sabotage? Hell, that's how we entertained ourselves as kids. Ralphie used to poke a hole in a car's fuel line and plug it with wax. Down the road the wax melts and out drips the fuel. With any luck, it hits the hot exhaust pipe and kafloom! some poor bastard's car goes up in flames. Of course you can always just pee in the gas tank. Geezers have an inexhaustable supply.
Company C, the Coffin Dodgers, moves out tomorrow. Tremble in your boots, oh enemy mine.
My Inspiration: 71 Year Old Takes On 6'4" Thug