The Golden Years

At 14, I had my first job, a pitch hitter for the guy next door. He had a paper route. Because all the choice routes close to my house were taken, I would work his route each year when he went on vacation. At 16 I became a chauffeur for my drunken salesman uncle when he lost his drivers license. At 18 I sprayed asbestos insulation into attics of houses. At 19 I joined the us merchant marines. At 20 I was drafted into LBJ’s war in Southeast Asia. At 22 I drove a cab. Etc, Etc….That was then, this is now. I’m 61 with 491 days left to retirement. I’ve worked my whole life with an eye on the retirement light of hope, plenty and prosperity at the end of the tunnel, only to find that the light is a 7 watt bulb about to burn out. Why? Because my parents and their generation lied to us about the great American dream. They said, work hard, put money in the bank, invest in a house and you will have it all. It’s a good thing they died 30 years ago, because if they were alive today and had any functioning brain cells left, it would kill them all over again to see the state of the nation which they left us. Not only did that generation lie to us, they shucked their most important duty. That duty being to storm the Bastille just like the peasants with torches and pitch forks in the old Frankenstein movies when the first cancerous cell of liberalism attached itself to the capitol building in Washington, and again with term limits when the first thieving fat ass politician was caught stuffing his own pocket. I have found that the golden years are a tarnished brown with my choices limited to buying gunpowder and primers or dried beans and rice.

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