He was a young eighty seven by mental standards. His wit had remained sharp as cheddar over the years, and he still hated Democrats with the staunch Republican passion of his youth. He wasn't young Phil anymore, and his wife Ann would be the first to tell you how he had changed over the years. For starters, he wasn't as racist as he used to be. Ann noticed some other Phil changes too, but those were more peformance-based. Fortunately, Ann happened to be a nurse. There were always Cialis® (tadalafil) starter packs in the doctor's sample closet at work.
Phil's first wife had passed away a few decades back. He had since remarried, and had very little to complain about as an aging octogenerian. Ann, 15 years his junior, was a good wife, and a loving companion who made a killer sauce. She fulfilled all of his senile needs. That's not to say old man Phil couldn't have an extracurricular hobby or two..
Sitting out on his porch, basking in the sunlight, Phil twisted the volume dial on the radio. Phil fancied himself a photographer, a paparazzo, if you will. Oldies music no longer drowned out the hum of the lawnmower down the street. He picked up his camera and was instantly back on the photo prowl.
Phil lived on the corner of Spruce and St. Francis. From his front porch he could see oncoming traffic from both streets. By "oncoming traffic" we mean people jogging. By "people jogging", we are specifically referring to young women donning neon colored sports bras. Locationally, one could say that Phil lived on a prime piece of real estate.
Phil had been napping and picture-snapping ladies getting their cardio on all day. It was a glorious day for a jog/nap.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a frisky feminine figure jogging energetically into focus. Neon green. Nice. He cooly held up his camera and click. He chortled to himself as he looked down and pretended to be distracted by the begonias in his garden, waiting for the runner chicky to pass. Except that she didn't. She ran right up to the edge of his yard and began to walk angrily across the grass towards him.
"You creepy old pig, I saw what you just did, hand me that camera right now or I'm reporting you to the police."
Ah, shit, Phil thought to himself. Busted.
"Eh, err, I'm sorry, what's that you say missy?" Phil tried to play the hard-of-hearing card. She wasn't biting.
"I said give me that fucking camera or I'm calling the cops is what I said!" The feisty jogger immediately snatched his camera and smashed it on the ground repeatedly until the undeveloped film was exposed to the sunlight. Phil was in disbelief! His Kodak Instamatic! Insta-ruined! It was at least like, 50 years old! That was the last roll of Instafilm he had! Who knew if they even made that film anymore! Kodak was like, bankrupt now, right?!
"You wish you had a picture of me, you old horn dog! I'm a sexy piece of ass! You're a creepy old man! You disgust me!" Without giving Phil a chance to conjure up a stuttering apology, she stormed off across the yard.
With her back turned to him, Phil quickly whipped out his iPhone, activated Instagram and stealthily snapped a few pictures. Nice. She bent over to tie her shoes! Phil kept surreptitiously snapping away. Nice! Nice! He quickly pocketed his smartphone before the girl stood up and turned around to give him the finger. Then she jogged off. Phil waved, then looked down at his shattered camera. It was a good camera back in the day, but it didn't have an 8 megapixel lens like this here iPhone. Anyways, he was too old to get hung up on a broken camera. He shook his head and chuckled quietly to himself. Bitches be cray.
When the coast was clear he took out his phone and played around with a few filters. Phil, you dog you, he thought to himself proudly, replaying the recent altercation in his head, you stillll got it.
He continued to smile to himself. He opened up his facebook app and uploaded one of the pictures for all of his
Caption:
"87 and still livin' the dream"
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