Why Do The Young Have To Be So Beautiful, Anyway?

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It took a while, but I finally got old, sick, fat and ugly and moved to the Rim country. Hooray, I'm here! Shut the gates and put up the barricades.

I don't like anyone who isn't as old and pathetic as I. I'm in hog-heaven when someone says, "I'm older than you are!" I'm gleeful at graveside services. My idea of a good time: wide open spaces.

Now about that BMX track thing: I don't ride a bike so I don't want it. I don't like dust blowing free in the air. I want it on the ground where it's supposed to be. I'm glad folks can't smoke at the Pearly Gates. There's a lot of stuff that tickles the heck out of me. (One of them is Bruce Babbitt.)

I don't like the young or the beauty of youth. I don't like the flutter of angel wings when a toddler passes by me. I don't like the gentleness, adoration, pride or patience I feel for my great-grandchildren.

Lets round up the young: move 'em out, string 'em up. Get the Eagle Scouts first! Sixteen-year-old Meikle Garrett will probably grow up to be a U.S. general or an admiral or president of the United States. He's already the kind of man Bill Clinton is selling his soul to be. Big deal, huh?

Dumb kids; why did they beg to be born for in the first place?

Alyce F. Hicks
Payson
(Editor's note: We appreciate Ms. Hicks' sarcasm -- and we're sure Meikle Garrett, the Scout who organized a recent work party at the BMX track, will appreciate the $50 check she enclosed with this letter for him.)

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