The neighbor’s ridiculously loud music brought me to the porch. I just wanted to see which one was annoying me. Of course. It’s the “Can I getta…?” neighbor. As I glanced down the street and saw the kids with their pants riding stupidly low, yelling obscenities at each other over the roar of their skateboards it suddenly dawned on me. In 50 years we are going to have the most hilariously awesome old people ever. They won’t have old people names like Harold and Ernest. They’ll be called Justin and Zach. With this in mind, I have created Carson.
The year is 2070 and Carson is 78 years old. He lives in a nursing home because his kids and grandchildren are scattered across the country in various prisons. He can’t decide if the CNA’s at the nursing home are bitches or ho’s, so he just calls them all, “Shawty.” The only reason he agrees to take his medication in the morning is because it says “may cause drowsiness” on the bottle and he’s hoping he’ll eventually cop a buzz. He’s still quite proud of his tattoo that he believes is the Chinese character for “warrior” (the tattoo artist copied it off of Wikipedia and it actually means “strawberry”) and pulls the skin on his bicep taught to show it off to the ladies. Instead of fedoras he has a drawer full of do-rags and trucker hats and he can still deliver a convincing “for-shizzle” if he puts his teeth in. Although the home wouldn’t allow him to bring his 9mm, he compromises with a cap gun he tucks proudly in the small of his back. He and his buddies Marcus and Jake-dog have formed the South Wing Thugs and can be found chillaxing in their hallway keeping an eye on things. Arthritis prevents them from throwing gang signs so they’re hoping the intimidation factor alone will keep people out of their business. Carson is hoping to get a delivery of hard candy from the outside so he can make a little cheddar.
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