|Back in the day... touring his land|
Having the right to bear arms means means being able to blast those bad boy candles, not wearing a sleeveless dress.
But serously, sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch, cussing at passers by and carressing a blunderbuss is no way for a nonagenrian to pass the time, especially in a gravy-stained Dukes of Hazzard shirt. And getting your chewing tobaccy-stained inky shots of spittle in the spittoon just once, would be a Godsend for all concerned.
So happy birthday you old varmint! I know, you're "one day younger than me." Here's to another, and a year of non-pc behaviour and speaking your mind to all and sundry (not to mention offending liberals) in the meantime.