From Rin_Cheese:

It is wonderful to be eighty. I want to claim benefits everywhere and beat people with a stick. In other words, the devil is no longer a brother. Infants can be frightened with a folded jaw, grandchildren with fictional horrors of youth, and children with a promise to never die. It is time to allow myself everything that is not permissible, and a little bit - it's not me who stole the tram, it's my mess.
The public opinion? To confuse and confuse. Painting your hair with ink is great. Smoking a cell phone and walking in a night shirt is wonderful. Cocktailing bass with young postmen - wow-ti-tel-no. In the tomb, with a hint bought by the descendants, it is time to have fun to throw away empty bottles and torn skeletons of lovers.
When a young man's body is still in the soul, he somehow capitulates, crumbles and desperately swarms, where to get an inserted jaw. Fortunately, the stick is already there.