My brother-in-law Rich had this great idea to open a retirement home for vikings here by the lake. Of course I invested. Rich had 50 ideas a week. By law of averages, some of them had to click. He sold me on this one, hook, line and sinker.
Well, here I am a year later and the whole thing is chaotic. This is living hell. I'm the manager and this place is taking years off my life. Lars, head viking, and his crew refuse to water ski, even with free lessons. The macrame classes are half full. Not a single resident registered for the Japanese nose flute lessons. They sleep all day, carouse all night, drinking booze, which is not even allowed on the premises. We give them a healthy organic salad and they holler for venison. They make weapons out of tree branches, shields out of scrap metal. Not one of them would trade in their stupid pit helmets for a fur cap. They can't shoot pool or roller skate for crap. They hate all the movies except Mel Gibson's. Aerobics classes are treated as a joke. We spent $3000 on extra large leotards, which no one wears. God knows what's growing in their beards. Potato sack races turned into bloody battles
Women, they bellow, where are the women?
No one pays any attention to me or my assistants, who quit on a regular basis. These animals won't bathe for days. Dental bills are astronomical. Rich, the bastard, cashed out his share, sold it to a corporation that owns the retirement home for florists across the river. What frightens me most is the possibility of these beasts discovering that fact, channeling across the river and attacking the helpless florists, maybe bringing some back as captives.
Actually we do need some decent landscaping here and more color. I could term it a field trip and plead ignorance at the consequences.
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