Old muthafuckas get moldy. Just like bread. When I see an old muthafucka buying a big ass loaf of bread, I want to tell him to let me buy that loaf ’cause his old ass isn’t gonna live long enough to eat that whole loaf. But if I said that I would be wrong. Not to be mean, but in general old people should only buy small portions. And don’t buy a pack of razors; open that pack up and take one out. Trust me, the salesperson wouldn’t say a thing. Every time I see an old person at Costco, I wanna be like, “What the fuck are you doing here? You don’t need to buy your shit in bulk. What are you, eighty-five? Don’t waste your goddamn money at Costco.” I want to say shit like that, but I know if I did say it—the truth, mind you—I would be wrong, so I don’t say a word.
Instead, though, I’ll follow an old man like that around just to see what kind of other excessive shit he’s gonna buy. As I do, I’m quietly hoping this old man is not gonna pick up one of those giant cartons of 144 eggs. Fuck around and bring all those damn eggs home and have them there so long those damn things hatch. Think they won’t? When you were in elementary school, did you ever have to help out with one of those incubators that they use to hatch an egg? All you really had to do was shine that hot ass lightbulb on it, and that damn chicken would pop out of that egg. Now, if a lightbulb can hatch one adorable baby chick, then how many baby chicks would an old person’s hot ass house bring into this world?!? There’d be 144 damn adorable chicks running around the house. And you know how old people are with shit. You would be like, “Pop, there are baby chicks running around the house!” And Pop would say something simple, like “What chicks?” And trust me, that exchange will stay the same for a while, ’cause Pop will never see those damn baby chicks. A baby chick’s feet move too fast, and old man Pop’s eyes move too slow.
Of course, two weeks later, after he’s dead and his grandkids are cleaning out his house, going through his fridge and the freezer and what not, they will wonder why the fuck Pop had thirty-six loaves of bread, four hundred rolls of toilet paper, a barrel of mustard, an eight-month supply of Efferdent, and a bunch of nasty ass chickens running around. See, by that time, those adorable ass chicks have turned into nasty ass chickens, and let me tell you something, chickens will fuck up a house in a heartbeat.