When I was Young

I once caught my grandfather sprinkling gunpowder onto his grits one Sunday morning. I asked him why he would do that.

He explained, “Kid, my father did this, and his father did this. If you do this as well, every day, it’ll help keep you hale and hearty well into your golden years.”

It must be true, since when he died last year, he was 97, and left thirteen children, twenty-seven grandchildren, twelve great grandchildren, four great great grand children, and a fifteen foot deep crater where the crematorium used to be.

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