Our Gang

Our gang is built on morals and civility. We help people, especially the elderly.
Ben is well into his nineties. He's always nattily dressed and smells of earthy cologne. One day we invited him back to our clubhouse. We gave him juice and an apple fritter. He sat there regaling us with stories from his life.
In the middle of one about landing at Normandy, he keeled over. He had no pulse. He also had no wallet, so we had to make a decision. If we called the cops, they might think we did it. We brainstormed, except for useless Joe, who was counting Ben's liver spots.
We were about to call Rocco, a local mob cleanup guy, who went to hit scenes and erased all evidence.
Suddenly Ben passed wind. He's alive!we shouted.
Ben sat up and spoke.
Jesus, somebody open a window.