The Fraternal Order of the M.O.B

 

 

 

Sometimes inspiration comes from God, but sometimes it comes from experience. Like all supposed grandparents I doted on the little creatures scurrying around the house disrupting my life at every twist and turn. Reminded me daily that I’m just “An Old Man,” and that they, the wise and omnipotent Zoomers will realign society in such a way that history and gender recognition will disappear and what man has developed since that asteroid whacked the dinosaurs will be of no consequence. Accordingly, I developed a fraternal organization for the preservation of sanity, history, and mom’s apple pie I lovingly call the M.O.B. or the Mean Old Bastards! God Bless whatever’s left of America!

 

I had an epiphany, or rather an epiphany had me. People don’t realize it, but epiphanies don’t always come from within but from without. Without common respect, love, or reason. Which are exactly what grandkids will give you if you give them enough time, and of course enough of your money, food, and shelter so as to allow them to realize their adolescent dream of world domination while in the bathroom with a tube of lubricant, a cell phone, and a paper towel.

 

They are blissfully ignorant of tried-and-true facts about long understood concepts such as electricity has to flow through wires, listen to people who have been there before you, and never drink blended whiskey. Their entire world view is composed of The Gospel of TikTok, and revisions arrive momentarily according to who passed the joint last.

 

The Order of the Mean Old Bastards will try to remedy this with a little common sense. First, we will dissolve the LBTGQ, and any “A’s” lingering out there. There really are just two genders and all the alphabetizing can be reduced to just two things. Stickers and stickees. Who sticks where and who agrees with the stickism method. Mostly it will the same method successfully applied from time immemorial, but we realize that there are deviations and that it’s nobody’s business what happens behind closed doors or in the halls of Congress. We do admit that people should be allowed to be whatever they wish and in that vein we should more or less let those ponies run until life catches up with them and they give us lots to laugh about down at the M.O.B. Lodge.

 

Reminiscent of the Tortoise and the Hare, we must remain aware of our slow-moving ways so as not to engage in a head-to-head confrontation with the younger, newer models who can subsist on a Big Mac while we worry about constipation. You must know your limitations, but not all limitations are necessarily limiting. Slower can be better in some situations.

 

We will have to dispense with some time-honored beliefs to accept some of the ideas alien to our religious and moral beliefs. Love, loyalty, and marriage being central to this. To women of our generation, of course. They are due all the respect earned that a wife and mother Expects. However, that having been said, should separation occur through death, disagreement or just getting old in the saddle and you feel that a replacement may be required, my filly of choice would be a University of Texas coed, who is doing badly in class, looking for an out. The ability to make coffee and scramble eggs, preferably in a nightgown, but not so intelligent as to be able to spell “E.D.” much less understand what it is. She has learned to carry on a reasonably intelligent conversation but not enough to form any conclusions or post a text with any cognitive abilities. Oh, and she must own a cat. They look good petting a cat on their lap. I just leave that right there. If she ever begins to develop any original ideas, or simply “ages out” drop her off at the UT campus as you pick up her replacement. Do not use this method with girls from Texas A&M or Baylor. Oh, and it’s nice if the candidate still fits in her Girl Scout Uniform. Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.

 

Use all the money you save to get a nice condo in Austin preferably overlooking Lake Travis and don’t tell any members of your former family where you live. Screen all phone calls, and only be totally honest with other members of the M.O.B. Like you, they’ll be hiding like Mafia snitches and you’re probably safe down there.

 

When you die have your will direct what remains of your wealth to the care of the homeless cats of Austin. Pay for the condo for six months. That should give your last coed time to find another M.O.B. and situate herself. Have your body cremated and your ashes sprinkled along 6th Street. Forget about heaven. Follow my advice and you will have already been there.