STACY MCCAIN

You thought the Executor would set up a defense (attack) force comprised as usual of nineteen-year-olds with an expectable seventy years of additional life in the larder. I knew that's what you thought. WRONG. Instead he began at once to recruit heterosexual men who had successfully achieved the age of seventy or more, who had lost their wives, all of them, whose children had grown up and gone away, and who accordingly had little to lose and looked upon death as a sort of vacation during which they could sit around a table and reminisce about the brave days.
Amazing it was, when the recruits, some as ancient as ninety, began to flood into Richmond, scarred veterans of office work, public relations, consultancy and other parallel vocations. "Take me!" they recited. "No, take me! Me! Don't take that fellow behind the tree, take me!"
And so he did, welcoming them into the corps with open arms. With nineteen doctors standing by, they were initiated at once into officially-approved standards of rheumatism therapy, the proper usages of Bengay, Gator Aide, penile extenders, hip and brain replacement, and other kindred soldierly enhancements. He likewise accepted those clamoring for suicide missions, forming as they did an especially useful regiment in the forthcoming Canadian Campaign. Came next the need to select a commander of this fairly heterogeneous force, a post requiring a peculiar amalgam of talents and vices. Twas on a Saturday that the solution took place in his head, that soft spot just below the left brow - Stacy McCain! (http://theothermccain.com/) - a man who had risen from Private to Corporal in record time (nine year four months, a record) and could pass for ninety even if his authentic age remained forever undisclosed.
NEXT WEEK: THE SUBJUGATION OF MANITOBI