Grumpy Old Men

Mr. Gustafson, I have to talk to you.

Mr. Gustafson, will you answer the door, please?

I know you're in there.

It's no use pretending this isn't happening, Mr. Gustafson.

I can't keep coming back here every couple of days.

You have to talk to me.

Mr. Gustafson, I'm just trying to help you.

Come on, answer the door.

I'm just gonna keep knocking.

I'm gonna keep ringing the bell, so you might as well answer the door.

We know you're in there.

Think of the neighbors, Mr. Gustafson.

There's a letter for you, Mr. Gustafson.

I suggest you read it.

- Morning, dickhead. - Hello, moron.

What are you, uh...

Never mind. Just forget it.

- Who's the guy yakking at your door? - Mind your own business.

"Mind your own business."

- Tie your shoelace. You'll fall. - Aw, shut up.

We're having a heat wave here.

Somebody moving into the old Clickner place.

- Gee, you picked up on that, Sherlock. - Excuse me.

I wonder if you gentlemen could tell me...

...uh, where I could find Mr. Gustafson?

No. Gustafson? No, no, sorry.

- Mr. John Gustafson? - That's right.

You mean the lowlife, ass-wipe...

- ...egg-sucker John Gustafson? - Oh.

Have you seen him?

Man's crazy. Loco.

Always hanging out around those kinky strip bars.

- What? - Where men take their clothes off.

Oh, for God's sake.

That's, of course, if he's taken his medication.

Medication?

Yes. Without it, he could be anywhere.

Wandering around, talking to the trees.

Believe me, this man is a menace. He's always drinking, starting fights.

Isn't that right?

- But have you seen him? - No, sorry.

I think, perhaps...

Um, no.

- No. No. - No.

If you see him...

...would you give him this and tell him he must contact...

- ...Mr. Snyder as soon as possible. - Yes. Uh-huh. Okay.

- Schneider. - Snyder.

That's me. It's important.

Important? Yes, sir. We'll tell him when we see him.

- Oops. - Oh, look out!

Watch out for that ice there.

Slippery. Very slippery.

Right.

Holy moly.

Jesus.

A men's strip joint?

Idiot.

Thirty days.

That's just great.

Remington MicroScreen Rechargeable Shaver so much...

...I bought the company.

It shaves as close as a blade, or I'll give you your money back.

The first microscreen is so thin it shaves incredibly close.

The second even closer. Remington's American...

You should have seen Mrs. Carlson's face when he said, "It's a keeper."

Oh, cold enough for you? Brr!

Oh, shut up, fat-ass.

It's not even Thanksgiving, and here we are enjoying our lovely fall weather.

Six inches of snow on the ground already...

...with traveler's advisories in effect throughout our area tonight...

...you'd be advised to stay inside and have yourself...

...a warm, home-cooked meal.

How'd you like a clue for what's coming up this week?

It's snow, snow, and more snow.

We've got snow coming into our area all week long.

Come Sunday afternoon, another cold front...

What the hell?

Holy moly.

Oh, my God.

- Got it. - There we are.

- This up front? - Yeah.

You're still using that beat-up piece of firewood?

The Green Hornet's caught more fish than you've lied about, Gustafson.

Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah.

- You see her? - Huh?

Drives pretty fast on that snowmobile.

- Pretty damn fast. - Yeah.

Did you hear about Eddie Hicks?

Hypothermia's a bitch.

Not quick like a stroke.

A stroke is no damn good. You could end up like a vegetable.

Give me a cardiac any day.

You know what Jacob said?

Jacob said that old Billy Hinshel was killed in a car crash.

Head-on collision with a freight truck.

Cleared his car straight over the bridge into the Mississippi.

Lucky bastard.

You bet.

Hey, how is he anyway?

He's dead. Died on impact.

Jacob, moron. Jacob.

Oh, ah, he's fine.

Doing real good. Real busy and everything.

But he promised to come over for Thanksgiving.

Is he really gonna run for mayor?

- Make a damn fine mayor, too. - Good thing he's his mother's son.

If he looked like you, he'd never get on the ballot.

Eat my shorts.

- Morning, Mrs. Truax. - Morning, how you doing?

Holy moly.

- Watch your step, ma'am. - Thank you.

Jesus Quincy Adams.

- Ha, ha. - Hmm...

I hit the cans again.

I heard.

How is the Grinch today?

Ain't got a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of.

Ha, ha. Can I get you something?

Yeah, I need a six-pack of Schmidt and I'm out of bait.

- Shiners or wax worms? - I can't afford shiners. Give me wax worms.

Wax worms are 75 cents.

75 cents? Crime in Italy. Chuck, we're talking about worms, not caviar.

You go through that every time.

Where are you gonna get worms this time of year? It's supply and demand.

You could retire in Florida just from selling me worms.

- And throw the beef jerky in too. - That's $5 for the beer and the worms.

Now you know your old gut can't handle no jerky.

God...

Hey, is Pop out there at the shanty?

Always.

Uh-huh. And the moron?

There's lots of ice out there, Gustafson.

Should be room enough for the both of you.

"Lots of ice out there, Gustafson."

Mm-mm-mm.

- Hi, Dad. - Hi, hi.

Any luck today?

How the hell should I know? I just got here.

- Oh. - Say, Mel, she came by the other day...

- ...and said that you'd been snapping. - Oh.

- Like a damned catfish. - Well, I've had a lot on my mind lately.

I'll tell you what's on my mind.

It's butt-cold out here and I'm fresh out of beer.

Oh, did you hear? Someone moved into the Clickner place. A woman.

- A woman? - Yeah.

- Did you mount her? - Oh, Dad.

No, wait a minute. Has she got big thighs?

- No. - No?

Then what's the problem?

If I was a young fellow like you, I'd be mounting...

...every woman in Wabasha.

Keep the change.

Hi, Punky.

Hi, John.

The Green Hornet strikes again!

Caught my limit.

I see you only snagged one, huh?

Two fish are on there, you bonehead.

You know damn well I throw back what I'm not gonna eat.

Oh, yeah? Like that 40-pound muskie you're always yakking about.

It's a shame that nobody ever sees you with these monsters.

You're gonna love it, Goldman.

Go to work, baby.

Hmm?

What is it?

Oh, my God, they've come for me.

Hi.

Oh, my God. I, uh...

You see, I was...

Hi.

I hope you don't mind, but I saw your light on...

...and I was just wondering if I might use your bathroom.

What?

- So, uh, your toilet is broken? - Oh, no, thank goodness.

I don't know, the house seemed so empty tonight. I do so love bathrooms.

You know, you can tell a lot about a person from his bathroom.

- Did you know that? - No, I didn't know that.

- There's a guest bath... - I can't wait to see what I find in there.

- Much better than having your palm read. - Well, uh...

You give me 30 seconds in a person's bathroom...

...and I will give you a complete and accurate profile.

- There's a guest bathroom, please. - I'll only be a minute.

Ah. Guest bathroom.

So?

Fascinating.

Uh...

Now, don't you think it's time that you finally introduced yourself?

- Oh, uh... - John "Goostafson," right?

- Gustafson. - Gustafson.

Well, I took some of your mail yesterday just to find out who you were.

But you don't get much and what you do get doesn't paint a picture.

- You took my mail. That's a federal offense. - I know.

Sometimes it's necessary to go a long distance out of the way...

...in order to come back a short distance correctly.

- Don't you find that too? I love that line. - What?

I have to confess it's not mine. It's from The Zoo Story by Edward Albee.

I teach American literature at Winona State University.

I started yesterday. Oh, I love the classics, don't you?

- Yeah. Well, I also read Field & Stream. - Indeed?