America is full of good senior citizens. All of the bad ones are in New York City.
Seniors. They are our mothers and fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers. They worked hard to ensure that their children would have a bright future. And the good ones all had the decency to get the fuck out of New York City when their time was up.
The elderly that remain here are a sneering crowd of octogenarian degenerates. Grifter grannies. War criminals on social security. Coupon-clipping pederasts. Centrum Silver-popping ex-porn producers. Serial rapists on Medicare. Leftover foam in a punchbowl from a party that ended years ago.
And they smell. I’m sure you’ve whiffed it before. It’s the stench of a body that hasn’t excreted a drop of sweat since the Kennedy assassination. It’s the stench of skin cells dying and stubbornly refusing to fall off, much the same way the grey-headed assholes of Old York refuse to fall off this archipelago for the greater good. The only thing worse than a homeless man who smells like shit and vomit is a geriatric Sandusky that perpetually smells like the acrid basement where he face-fucked his children.
Those in their golden years are supposed to be filled with wisdom and experience. The ones here are filled with lifetimes of bitterness and abandonment. Let’s face it. If you’re an Old Yorker, you’re probably a withering piece of abusive shit. If your family loved you they would have packed you up and sent you to god’s waiting room or an old folk’s home. You’re still here because you spent your youth causing pain and suffering. You left your children with years of psychiatrist bills and substance-abuse problems. So they left you alone to fill your Depends with Ensure and prune juice.
Old Yorkers are awfully judgmental for a bunch of smelly fuck-ups. They lurk at their windows, waiting for the opportunity to tell you that you’re blocking their driveway that they haven’t used in 20 years. They only talk to you to complain and for some strange reason they expect people to care about they have to say.
Look old people of New York, you remember when “sodey pop” was a penny and black people cost a nickel. It’s time to go. Move on or move out. We need the space.
I don’t mean to sound harsh, but fall off of a skyscraper into a giant human-sized meat grinder. As the grinder loudly crushes bone, dentures, and AARP cards, the young people of NYC will praise your selflessness.
Hold your breath for a second and collapse headfirst into a helicopter blade. The arterial spray and chunks of gore will be the confetti for the parade we throw in your honor.
The streets will ring forth with the sound of a million hips shattering like christmas ornaments you won’t need for next year.
You fight it every day. Just stop. Let death win.
Go gentle into that good night.
I want that rent-controlled apartment.