ANTI-OAP RANT

Pub-guide-dogs slogs with their owners…
(Who are) inevitably crotchety, boozy old moaners,
Noted for their blurry reminiscences and frequent misnomers,
Their breath (the dog owners) is tangibly offensive in any post office queue,
‘Mustn’t grumble,’ is their catchphrase, and one that is untrue,
For, collectively, slowing others down while they moan is all they do.
They’re scared of dying and reported crime,
They hate the weather, especially during wintertime,
They claim they’re poor, but not ‘like they were in the war,’
They get most things cheap or free, so why must they bore?
With their rants about ‘the old days,’ more than sixty years ago,
They always seem to tell the folk who never want to know.
Comparing medical symptoms is something else they like to do,
Their competitive suffering’s sad and sick—it makes me want to spew.
Why don’t they stay in then, if they’re really at death’s door?
Then I wouldn’t have to listen to them anymore.
They hate the young; they think they’re spoiled,
Like their smelly, cabbagey food that’s over-boiled.
Things were different in their day,
You hear, like a mantra, they say.
Nobody has any respect for them; the world’s a hostile hell,
With kiddie terrorists running wild, there’s no one they can tell.
The police won’t touch them, nor will their teachers,
Because they’re monstrous, drug-fuelled creatures.