by Rubenchito

Last week, Ah mighta expressed mah unhappiness ’bout our present crop uh elected o fish shills when the guy behind me in the food-shelf line surprised me by usin’ one uh Uncle Morton’s two-bit words.

“You’re a real curmudgeon, ain’tcha? Here these nice folks is helping us with free eats and you’re moaning about the government not doing more for ya. ”

“I got lots t’ complain about, pilgrim, an’ … not sure Ah can afford the gover mint doin’ much more fer me.”

“Well, ya sound pretty cantankerous t’ me.”

“Listen, friend, Ah’ve  survived the follies of uh slew uh political generations an never murmured uh word about it, but Ahm plain fed up with them Washington beercrats throwin’ my taxes away on pork barrels and foreign potent taters. Fer that, Ahm entitled t’ a little “cantankory.”

“Hey, Ah’ve lived within mah means and tried t’ save for my retirement years. Then them high-livin’ politicians has managed t’ “save” wall-street bankers (with my tax dollars) while reducin’ interest rates that get me back next t’ nothing on my savings. Then Ahm told my Social Security is an “entitlement” –  guess my contributions over the years was just monopoly money. An while they’s spoutin’ all that sanctimony about savin’ an’ entitlin,’ the President Pro Tempore of the U.S. Senate, uh … name sounds like a cattail got crossed with uh muskrat … uh … Hairy Reed, he demands, and received, more of my tax dollars fer the vital National interest uh the northern Nevada Cowboy Poetry Festival. Shucks ‘pardner,” had I only known, I could have stopped by uh friend’s stable and picked up a donation fer the event – in real cowboy currency.

“In a nutshell, it’s mainly those dadratted political pickpockets that’s responsible fer my “curmudgeonousness … bottom line: Ahm gonna do all the curmudgeonin’ I want … … while it’s still legal.”