I have developed a system to unclog our supermarket aisles and roadways by motorizing senior citizens so that they move at twice the natural pace. Operation Every Octogenarian a Frankenstein brings together the best that science has to offer -- stun guns, lobotomies, and small yet highly sophisticated computers that cannot feel the pain of arthritis, osteoporosis, and broken dreams.
Critics of this procedure say that I am killing the elderly and converting their corpses into robots, and for some reason they see that as problematic.
"Each to their own," I say as I jam my ice pick up the nose of the patient currently incapacitated on the worktable in my garage. I quietly perform my slipshod lobotomy, twisting and turning the ice pick haphazardly around in the nerve fibers connecting the frontal lobes to the thalamus like a corkscrew mangling a cork; hook up their New Brain™; jam an epinephrine pen into their ass; and usher them out the door like an obstetrician putting a baby in a basket and hanging it from a tree outside the hospital.
Generally, a few minutes later, I still hear the patient moaning outside my door. The one major challenge of Operation Every Octogenarian a Frankenstein is to figure out how to get all the moaning, hungry, smelly patients off my property. I think I might be breaking a bylaw of my gated community by contributing to the development of a cyborg colony on my lawn.
