Dear G-Man,
You’re 100 years old now. I bet you’re the sexiest son-of-a-bitch in the nursing home.
How old were you when Laura finally got sick of your shit and tossed your ass in that prison cell? You always were a pain in the ass.
Did the kid disown you too, or did she actually stay loyal, unlike most kids when Mom or Dad become a burden?
Did they let you keep your guitar, or did they take it away because you kept that prick upstairs in Special Care awake all night? Screw him. If you can’t play “Eruption” on your axe, play “Wipeout” on the bedpan instead. I’m sure that’ll piss him off just as much. Pun intended.
Did they sedate you after they caught you doing pullups at the nurse’s station? They have no respect for physical fitness, I swear. I bet it was the one with the big attitude and powdered sugar around her mouth who put a stop to it. God forbid you interrupt her fifth meal of the morning.
One thing you were always great at was pissing people off and getting a reaction. Hopefully, that hasn’t changed.
And hey…
When you close your eyes for your final nap at 167 years old, please do so with a smile on your face and a middle finger raised high to the sky.
You didn’t always do things the smart way, but you definitely did them your way.
Now get upstairs and hide that rich bastard’s gold-plated walker. He hates it when you do that.
Raise hell and leave a trail of busted up shit in your wake.
Rock the F on,
G-Man
And yes, the above is written in jest with tongue firmly planted in cheek. π
Have a great day, peeps.
The Beginning At Last 
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