Grandkids said they plan to paint me up like somethin' called "Darth Maul" for Halloween. Said I've got the perfect head for it. Was that a compliment? All I know is that this fella with the funny name is some kind of movie star, so that sounds alright. In my day movie stars were somethin' special. You looked up to 'em. Back then we had good joes like John Wayne (bless his soul), to kill all the Indians for us. It was a whole lot of hoopla, I'll give you that, but J.W. always got the job done. He was a real man. Someone you could put your faith in. When I was a boy, John Wayne taught me that if anyone gives ya guff, wallop him one but good, and he'll see the light of day. As sure as shootin'. And then you can ride your trusty steed off into the sunset somewhere. Sometimes when I belt the milkman for bringing me MAIL instead of MILK, I get to my customized senior golf cart before you can say "Eisenhower," and fire away around the block. Heh, heh, Tom doesn't know what hit him. He's a woman. One unsuspecting, solid punch to the gut and Tom goes down, holding his stomach like he was dying or something. And I whip around the corner, riding my golf cart into the sunset and down the street. Grandma always said I was akin to old J.W. Heh, heh. If I didn't do it, who would? It's a privilege, buddy. A God given privilege.
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