OK, I’m an “early adopter,” I admit

OK, I’m an “early adopter,” I admit it.

I paid the money, signed the papers for my adopted grandchild during spring break. My grandchild wouldn't be born for forty years, heck, I wasn't even out of highschool yet but

I already new then that I was not interested in producing a sire with the stuck up rich girls my parents wanted to fix me up with. Filing for adoption at age 16 seemed the easy out

but they said a minor wasn't allowed to gain custody over a child if they had any sense in their head, unless they were a stupid teenybopper with more hormones than sense and too

many mismatched socks. Those dang kids and their socks and their t-shirts and their camera phones...could you at least help an old guy up after you take his picture?

But No Says I! Them whippersnappers left poor old me at the bottom of the staircase, laughing as they took them pictures of me! I wus laughing on the inside because thar hair

was dreaded like mine. Their dreads were from stylistic license. Mine were from neglect, and were just long enough to cover my bed sores. I climbed Everest in the 60's, but stairs

installed in the 70's now means it's too easy and Everest is swarming with tourists. I preferred it back then, when most people died long before the summit. Ted Danson said to me:

"Whoopie!" Right there and then, I knew Ted Danson was hallucinating. Either he wasn't getting enough oxygen up there on Mt. Everest or he was thinking of his one true love. Ted