It's Alive...

All of a week ago, a bunch of us youthful type curmudgeons (recently retired, new to Medicare, etc.) declared the Curmudgeon Societé Generale dead.

To seal the deal, we mounted a ceremonial Curmudgeon Handbook book burning party. I even let them burn my own humble chapter - Trash is the Last Resort.  We were on a youth-related tear, the youngest of us, at 55, reminding us what pre-retirement desk sitting resilience used to be.

Oddly, the following morning I got a visit from two esteemed former Curmudgeon Societé Generale representatives.  As I seem to recall, they had convenient single syllable names that could be suitably approximated by the odd grunt. They also had a certain economy of movement, seeing as how they were unencumbered by necks.

The message was simple: publish the final few articles "in the can" and I would be permitted continued use of my extremities.  And thus, "the Repor That Wouldn't Die" series has been born. Happily, Hanz and Franz can't read, so I may wander from strict Societé Generale regulations now and again.

Hey, we're young and we're passionate (mostly about our next meal, but it's a start).