I got one job. Watch the birdie. Or should I say the Escalade.

Really, I got two jobs, watch and then tail. Could be worse. Could be delivering packages to the docks like Petey. No thanks. I’ll take just sittin’ in a warm Camaro anytime.

I could stay here all night and I have many times. That’s why Honus sent me here. Instead of one of the old guys.

Those old guys, always blaring the Jerry Vale or Mario Lanza in the car. I don’t need no radio to do my job. Or podcasts, God forbid.

Your battery is at 98 percent.

All I need to do is keep my eyeballs on the Cadi.

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Those old guys. If they are not at the track, all they do is watch the freakin’ Mets. Who can sit through a three-hour game of that. There’s more action at mass.

Bro, I got all the freshest mods downloaded and the primo cheat codes for this level, just watch. Am I gonna smash my old record for this game? Bet.

All those old guys do is eat. Eat like garbage. They are always at the clubhouse smelling up the joint cooking gravy.

Then I add kale to the bottom layer. Before the queso. Look at this. The key is I air fry the veggies so they don’t get soggy.

All those other jamokes at the club got a wife and a side piece. No wonder the oldtimers fall asleep on the job. Two ball and chains!

My pictures are all recent, no filters, please swipe left if your mother never taught you any table manners.

Those fossils spend half their life on the golf course. What a waste of time.

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And if you can’t find them there, check the barbershop. Like there’s anything to be done with those last couple of strands. Talk about rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic.

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Or lifting weights. You’d think they got enough of that in the joint. But not at the gym like a human being. Bicep curls in their undershirts in the driveway of the clubhouse. Please!

The key to a proper plank is keeping your butt low enough to serve tea on. Watch this.

I’ll give ‘em one thing, they do appreciate a nice ride.

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How many times they gonna watch Goodfellas? All they talk about is the Sopranos. That stuff rots your brains.

Coyotes and badgers will sometimes hunt together, just look at these two little amigos.

I am gonna kill myself if I have to listen to them compare blood pressure medicine one more time.

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All these old guys do is renovate their houses and waste their time on landscaping. Who am I, Edward Scissorhands?

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Basically, these old guys are weak. They have one addiction or another. Starch. Limoncello. Family. The ponies.

Warning: your battery is at 20% you are entering powersaver mode.

 This is why the bosses prefer me. Nobody owns me! Nothing controls me. I am free and untamed like a wild stallion. A ninja. A Jedi!

Your cellular usage was 39% higher this month compared to the previous month.

Shit, wait, where the freak is the Cadoosh? Where did he go? Honus is gonna skin me alive. These old guys have zero chill.

Scott MacLeod is a father of two who writes in Central Florida. His work has appeared in Every Day Fiction, Punk Noir, Rmag, Bristol Noir, Coffin Bell, 10 By 10 Flash, Frontier Tales, The Yard: Crime Blog, and Gumshoe Review, with more forthcoming. He can be found at

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