The Old Men are planning on another desperate act

There is now a scheduled meeting of the desperate criminals of the Grandfather's Club coming up and the three of us have decided that they'll never take us alive. 

At the last meeting last Labor Day we decided that we would keep our eyes open for a big, giant gas ball to make our stand on if we get caught. We were also supposed to be on the lookout for a trio of Tommy guns for the big shootout.

I have found neither and I suppose the other two haven't, either. There seems to be a distinct shortage of big, giant gas balls and Tommy guns these days. One of us has found something we can use at our next meeting, though. It comes in a Mason jar.

The Grandfather's Club is a criminal organization I belong to consisting of two grandfathers and myself. It is dedicated to giving about 6 or 8 grandchildren something special every summer. We do this by recklessly endangering their little lives.

We take their grandkids up north to Amish farm country and give them a ride in the bed of a pickup a couple of times each summer on sultry evenings.

We wind through little country back roads and let the kids feel the wind and smell the odors of hay, manure and fresh air. The kids love it. They will remember it for their entire lives.

Of course, the authorities don't approve but that's just too damned bad. They can kiss our collective asses over this one. We are American Old Men and Americans should grow up having been driven through farm country in the bed of a pickup on summer evenings. This is where we drew the line some years back.

We drive the kids up in cars and then one car takes the lead, the other one takes up the tail and the kids ride in the bed of a pickup like they're supposed to.

We wind around slow country roads and reasonable, safe speeds for an hour or two and when its over the kids get back into the cars and get dropped off. Then the three of us meet at my place and strike a blow for liberty. Generally it's a snort of bourbon.

We have done this for a number of years now.

Last year at the last meeting one of the youngsters had grown up and gotten his learner's permit so we were able to strike TWO blows for liberty as the kid did the driving. He took George home after George had a couple.

Now he has his full-fledged driver's license and we'll be able to strike as many after-action blows for liberty as we want to. He's now the designated driver. He can take George and Pete home. Then again maybe this isn't a good idea. He may not be ready for this yet.

 A few years ago George took him to Allegheny General and exposed him to the horrors of the maimed and disfigured children in the Three Stooges ward. Yet still he may not yet be ready to deal with the cackling and stupidity that is sure to accompany three old men as they get into a Mason jar of 87 proof 'shine.

Generally the drink has been bourbon except for the time Pete brought that hideous bottle of rotgut rye. However, the next meeting the proffered beverage will likely be moonshine as one of us has found a Mason jar full of it somewhere that is very well made.

Of course, moonshine is illegal but I think that it is a fitting beverage for us to strike a blow for liberty with because we're already criminals guilty of conspiracy to endanger and corrupt children so we might as well make busting us worth their while.

I suppose we haven't located a decent big giant gas ball yet. We're still looking for Tommy guns. We may have to settle for three Mattels we get off of eBay. I think I know where we can get roll caps to feed them if we go the Mattel route.

On the other hand we seem to have made progress because George has found a pretty good violin case to carry one in and all three of us have pretty snappy looking Old-School fedoras. Our faces have enough age in them so they actually look pretty good on us.

Last fall the kid looked perplexed during out meeting while we were discussing future plans for upcoming criminal activities. That came to a close sometime around St. Patty's Day when I ran into the kid while out shopping.

He saw me and came up to me.

"'White Heat. James Cagney.'" he said, sheepishly. "Made it, Ma! Top of the world!" 

I laughed delightedly. "You saw it!"

"You old guys are a bunch of goofballs. That movie was made in 1933," he said. "Long before any of you guys were born!"

"Yeah, but the classics never go out of style," I replied.

"It was pretty good," he said. 'Now I know where you guys get your lines!"

He's a pretty good kid and I think he'll turn out OK.

"Tell George I said hello and tell him I said to have a cold one with you either on Memorial Day or the Fourth," I said. "Someone's gotta make a criminal out of you!"

"You better tell him that," he laughed.

"I will." Fact is I went home afterwards and did. I called him and told him he ought to have a beer with his grandson come Memorial or the Fourth. He agreed.

George is a real desperado. He's the kind of guy that will probably hand his grandson a cold beer and have one with him on the back porch in flagrant violation and total defiance of state laws that have been enacted for our safety and  protection by our duly elected officials.

Why, I'd go so far to say that George probably doesn't have a tag on his matteress. He most likely tore it off! He's that kind of guy.

He laughed. "I already have a fedora and a black shirt and a white tie!" he boasted. "And it's a real Old School fedora. Not one of those dopey little hipster kinds."

"Good for you, Kid," I said. "Keep your eyes peeled for gas balls and Tommy guns for us to make our stand with."

He laughed. Then he asked why his father was so stuffy about our little over the hill gang.

"You're still young enough to see through a lot of the bullshit," I said. "George, Pete and I have grown past it. Your dad is stuck in middle age and is caught up in it. Maybe if you hang out with us some of it will rub off on you and you'll survive middle age with fewer problems. Right now your biggest problem is likely who to go to the prom with."

"Hmm. There are a couple of girls there I'd consider as a prom date. I wonder which one to ask?"

"Simple.  The one with the biggest tits," I said and walked off leaving him to think about that one for a while.






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