This disturbing headline recently appeared on the CBS Minnesota WCCO Website:

“70-Year-Old Woman Was Drinking Tequila, Holding Fake Gun While Hanging Off I-94 Overpass”

Maybe you saw this headline yourself? And maybe you wondered as I did, 

“How did my mother-in-law get to St. Paul?” (1*)

I was momentarily concerned – but quickly relieved – when I remembered my mother-in-law doesn’t drink tequila. She drinks, make no mistake, just not tequila. I have no idea what your mother-in-law drinks, so you’ll just have to go on being concerned.

The article goes on to say that the 70-year old perp threatened a State Trooper with a gun made from duct tape and tin foil. When interviewed, Captain Obvious of the Minnesota State Patrol said, “the alleged criminal showed signs of impairment.” Which, if you ask me – and I know you didn’t – seems like a rush to judgment. She was, after all, only hanging from a fence over the interstate highway holding a bottle of tequila with a tinfoil gun jammed in her shorts. Hardly what I’d call “impaired.” Out of her friggin’ mind maybe – but not impaired.

For starters, I think we need to tip our collective hats – tinfoil and otherwise – to the Trooper who miraculously refrained from drawing his weapon and popping the perp between the eyes. I mean, come on, this is Minnesota; the land of shoot first and ask questions later.

That said, how realistic-looking was this reportedly fake tinfoil and duct tape pistol? Personally, it’d take me some serious time to shape a wad of tinfoil into anything remotely resembling a pistol. Not to mention the time it would take to cover it with duct tape. And all bets are off if my fine motor skills are inhibited by my old friend Jose Cuervo.

The point I’m trying to make? This crime was obviously premeditated. You don’t just grab a half dozen Arby’s Beef & Cheddar wrappers off the floor of your car and fashion them into a pistol with the Staties hot on your tail. And don’t even think about wrapping it in duct tape. So my guess is; this 70-year tinfoil-toting granny banger? She’s part of a much larger conspiracy. And I think you know what I mean.

The news of late is filled with reports about gangs of young hoodlums swarming local department stores, grabbing goods as they go, and then swarming back out again. And they commit these crimes unscathed, unhindered, unchecked, and unrestrained. 

Well, I’m here to tell you it’s not just young hoodlums doing the swarming. I have my suspicions that the Tinfoil Gun-Moll Granny, caught hanging over I-94 in St. Paul, is part of a much larger, more sinister plot. 

Granny Grabbers. 

Exactly. There have been other, fictitious but completely unsubstantiated reports of great groups of grannies gathering to garner goods from other, unsuspecting merchants. 

Geriatric flash mobs, hyped up on Ensure, storming the local Walgreens and CVS. In mere seconds they can clear shelves of Depends and the coveted All-Night Tranquility with the Peach Core odor guard (WTF). Stuff their fanny packs full of Viagra and Cialis. Load their walker sacks with Dulcolax and ZuPOO. And then they’re off to the races, figuratively speaking.

What Walgreens clerk in their right mind is going to interfere with some wild-eyed Granny Grabber wielding a tinfoil pistol, smelling like too much tequila, and screaming her clothes are about to fall off. Try explaining that mental trauma to the Workers Comp investigator.

Having completed their grab and go, the Grannies gather at pre-arranged locations. They favor picnic shelters in local parks where they’re less conspicuous. They’re harmless old ladies; who’s going to bother them?  

Dividing up the take, they get it back on the street within minutes. An entire army of newbie recruits, Granny Grabber Wanna-bes, dressed in puff-painted sweatsuits and white Nike’s, are ready and waiting. You’ll see ‘em working the corners outside senior centers and retirement communities, the backend of their minivans packed to the brim with hot goods. Taking advantage of the supply-chain interruptions brought on by COVID, they can demand two to three times retail for adult diapers and supplements. Ten times the regular asking price for boner-meds.

And the worst part? (As if there’s a good part.) My friends, I fear this is just the beginning. 

There are currently more than 54 million blue-haired dust-farters in this country of ours. And statistically, if that isn’t sobering enough, included in those millions are our current President, our immediate past Orange Oompa Loompa, and more than 98 percent of congress. (The other two percent have aged out as they are now centenarians.) 

And they’re on the increase, these Coffin-Dodgers. Their numbers have multiplied by more than a third in the last decade. They’re everywhere and nowhere you want them to be.

Used to be, after a long day at the grind, you could enjoy a relaxing happy hour with your co-workers at the local pub. Not anymore. Come five o’clock – the AARP bewitching hour – bars and restaurants are crowded full of senile delinquents angling for that coveted senior discount. The all’s of ‘em, taking up space, no doubt planning their next flash and grab adventure. 

If you see them in the wild, remember; these old crones may look harmless, but they’re a dangerous breed. Their mindset is, what’s mine is mine, and I’m gonna grab it while I can – and I might as well grab yours while I’m at it.

The real kicker to this whole thing? I’m about two and a half years from officially being one of them. Look out, Walgreens, here I come.

(1*) And just so we’re all on the same page and to be totally transparent, 70 is a distant memory for my mother-in-law . . . who I love dearly.;-)