Death Is Nothing To Sneeze At


As each generation fades off into the sunset, they take something with them–something that, for better or worse, we will probably never see again.  The last generation took letter writing with them to their collective grave (by letter writing I mean the art form–the well conceived, thoughtful, handwritten letter that was addressed with care and handed to the post man, and then all the anticipation that went along with waiting for the return letter).  Careful observation and a bit of wishful thinking has led me to conclude that the demise of the current ‘death panel’ generation will coincide with the disappearance of the handkerchief.


Good fucking riddance.  I, for one can’t wait until all these “Patient Zeros’ walking around with their filthy snot rags in their pockets, trying to infect everyone by offering their disease-ridden pocket squares to every runny-nosed kid and distraught woman they come in contact with, are wiped from the face of the earth. My dad is one of these guys (No thanks, Dad, we have a thing called Kleenex), but my mother may even be worse — she’s an enabler.  She actually washes, and IRONS his fucking hankies.

Stop it Mom!

Trust me, my generation is not above reproach.  Hopefully you young people will be able to thank us for taking the Speedo with us.  Until then though, I will continue to wear mine proudly.

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